Unfathomable
by robspace54
Summary: Bert Large is leading night time Haunted Portwenn Outings when strange things start to happen. Is this Bert's way of drumming up business, or is something else afoot?
1. Chapter 1

**Unfathomable**

by robspace54

**Doc Martin is owned by Buffalo Pictures. The fevered thoughts below are purely my own and nothing more.**

**There are SPOILERS to the denouement of Doc Martin Season 5 below… just so you know.**

Chapter 1 – Understand

"My God, Martin! I can't believe you did that!"

Martin looked sharply at me. "I had to do something!"

"Well, yes, I know, but right then?"

He cleared his throat. "It seemed the appropriate thing to do at the time."

"Oh, really?" I turned my head and looked sharply at him with a raised eyebrow.

He held up his hands in surrender. "I give in, Louisa. Might as well. Already have."

"Right." I crossed my arms as I was cold. "But why right then?"

"It was automatic," he grumbled. "Look, Mrs. T was holding our son hostage! What was I supposed to do?"

"You told her you _loved_ her!"

"You're not going to let me forget that are you?"

I sighed and stretched a stiff neck. "No. I'm not. Not for a very long time. You'll have to make it up to me."

He turned up his nose. "Louisa, must we talk about this right now?"

"No."

"Oh." Martin looked over at James Henry asleep in his cot. "He's asleep."

"Yes, poor lamb. Thank God that nothing happened."

"But it did happen! Mrs. Tishell kidnapped him! Silly woman dosing herself…"

I stopped him by putting my hand across his lips. "Martin. I _don't_ want to talk about Sally Tishell."

"Right," Martin said. He looked at me across his bedroom, no _our_ bedroom at the surgery. He cleared his throat. "So… what shall we… uhm… do now?"

I shook my head in disbelief. We'd had dinner and the night was now falling. "Martin Ellingham, sometimes, I just can't understand you."

000

"Al, listen, there's that noise again. Don't you hear it?" Bert looked across the kitchen at his son.

"No, dad," Al Large sighed. "I don't."

"Well, it does fit it with the _Haunted Portwenn Outing_ I'm leading tonight!" Bert tip-toed across the restaurant kitchen, got right behind Al and started to make the sounds of imagined ghosts. "Wooo, wooooo!"

Al pushed him away. "Stop it Dad! You know I don't like that stuff."

Bert laughed. "You always were scared of the ghosts and demons, weren't you? I remember the time you was dressed up as a pirate, about seven or eight I suppose you was, at Halloween and one of your friends came as a headless ghost." He bent over and held his sides as he laughed loudly. "You almost jumped out of your skin!"

Al whirled around with an eight-inch long chef's knife in his hand and held it out threateningly. "Dad! Stop it!" He drove the point of the blade into a cutting board on the table between them.

Bert held his hands up in surrender. "Boy! Son? Don't get all nervous like. I was just fooling!"

His son wrenched the knife from the board and waving it at his father slowly advanced towards him.

"Son! Al! Stop!" Bert yelled anxiously. "I was just tricking you!" He started to back up.

Al's face held a snarl and he took two slow steps, as his father backed into a table and stopped in alarm. Al broke into a laugh. "Ha ha! Gotcha!"

Bert held his chest. "God, Al! I thought I was a goner. Thought you'd cut me up and feed me to the fishes!"

"Naw," said Al. "I figured I'd cart all the bits up on the moor for the Beast to devour!"

Bert's face got serious. "The Beast?" He shivered and waved his hands in alarm. "Now you know, Al, the Beast is not something we joke about!"

"Good one dad! Another one for the tourists; all those _emmets_. And you charging them a tenner apiece for a walk in the dark!"

Bert's face fell. "No son! We don't joke about the Beast!"

Al laughed but Bert rolled his eyes to heaven, pressed his hands together and prayed aloud. "Oh Lord, forgive him!"

"Give it a rest, dad! I heard that story about a million times." He turned back to cutting potatoes for their dinner, the restaurant being closed that night. An easy meal, just for the two of them.

Bert crossed the room to his son and tapped his arm. "Al! No!" he said seriously. "We NEVER joke about the Beast!"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 - Business

It all started when it was obvious that the Large Restaurant was going downhill. Competition was increasing and so were prices for food and fuel. Borrowing money twice – once from the Tonken's and the under the table deal from Ruth Ellingham, didn't help in the end.

Al had tried to make it up to Ruth by working for free, but that didn't seem fair. Ruth was quite put out about the money she'd spent, which didn't go for fencing at the farm, but went to pay back the Tonken's. She was still waiting for a fair deal from Al when Bert got the idea to restart his ghost rambles.

"Dad, I don't think it's a good idea."

"Al! Of course it is. It was a good business then. I know there were some problems the _last_ time." Bert said. "But we know the pitfalls now!"

Al sat there shaking his head sadly. "I swore I'd never go skulking around in the dark again!"

"Oh, come on son, it wasn't that bad, was it?"

Al sneered. "No dad. It wasn't _you_ that fell into Mrs. Pugh's cesspit, was it?"

"Well how was I to know that PC Bernhall would chase you across that field and that the Pugh's cesspit was being serviced and the lid was off? Poor old Bernhall, I thought he'd burst a blood vessel when he seen you come crawling home all mucky."

Al shook his head violently. "I said it then and I say it now. I won't do it! NO!"

"Son," Bert turned soulful eyes at his boy. "It's not for me, it's…" he waved his hands around the kitchen, "for all this! The Restaurant! Come on boy."

"No way, dad. No way!"

"Son, come on. And besides, if the police ever found it was you that was nicking those gooseberries from the Lamb's bushes…" he let his voice trail off. "I'm sure it's still an open case."

"Dad! Come off it!" he banged on the table. "I was twelve years old!"

"No, son, you was fifteen. The long arm of the law, son. I'd hate for…"

"Alright, alright!"

Bert laughed. "Mark my words Al; mark my words. This will get us over the hump."

That's how it started up and weeks later Bert's once a week ramble was helping to fill the Large coffers. Bert Large's 'Haunted Portwenn Outing' had even been advertised on Radio Portwenn and their attendees were climbing. Bert drank tea while Al finished cooking.

"These chips will be ready soon, dad. You'll eat before you go?"

Bert slapped his ample belly. "Son, have I ever missed a meal?"

Al viewed his father with a knowing glance. "No. Isn't it great that Doc and Louisa are back together! And who'd have thought that Mrs. T would go Bodmin like that?"

"Poor Clive," Bert shook his head. "I heard that he'd planned to retire, get a caravan, and he and Sally would go travelling. Looks like she'll be in hospital for a bit."

"I guess so. Chips are ready along with the fish. They'll fix Mrs. Tishell up, but I'm not sure I'd want to go a _chemist_ who had decided to use a little _chemistry_ on _herself_… Poor woman."

Bert stared at his son. "And all this time she was pining away for the Doc. A lonely candle burning in the dark! Well, better living through modern chemistry, I suppose. Let me get this straight - we had fish and chips at the school when the Doc and Louisa had to rush off. And didn't those kids tuck into those platefuls! Couscous and celery? My word. Then here we are eating fish and chips for supper?" He took another drink of his tea. "Better hurry up lad, I got to meet the _ghosters_ in a bit." He laughed. "Louisa and the Doc together again! Fantastic! When she moved out of the surgery and went to her own cottage, well, the one she's renting from Mr. Routlege, I figured she was never going back. All this just two weeks before Doc Martin was to head to London."

"Almost seems like divine providence, don't it?" Al filled two plates and set them on the kitchen table.

Bert and Al sat and Al immediately started to dig in.

"Al! Put down that fork. We need to say grace."

"Sorry, dad. I'll say it. Dear Lord, thank you for this bounty of the sea and the land. Thank you for the roof over our heads and the beds we sleep in. Please keep Pauline safe in her new job and may she get some time off so I can see her. And thanks too for keeping the Doc here in Portwenn so we stay healthy. Amen. Oh, yeah and please help Sally and Clive Tishell through their present troubles and thanks for putting Louisa and the Doc together again. Amen, again."

Bert reached across the small table and tousled his son's short hair. "A fine prayer. Can you imagine where we'd all be if the Doc had left in June? There would be any number of people who'd have kicked it."

They ate for a time, then Al downed fork and looked at his dad. "So this ghost ramble you've been doing, nice bit of coin."

"I figure we got fifteen tonight, maybe more."

"A hundred and fifty? Man. We'll be able to pay back Ruth, and soon."

"Al you always did have a head for figures." Bert stood and shucked into a heavy jumper, then picked up a torch. "I'll see you _later_." He emphasized the last word and smiled.

"Night dad."

"The usual son. Off to my other business."

"Sure." Al turned to the sink to clean their dishes.

"Hm…" Bert muttered. "Do you suppose Louisa and the Doc will want us to cater their wedding, once more?"

"No."

"Well, the marquee failing down wasn't our fault with the soft ground from all the rains."

"Just keep telling yourself that Dad. Hadn't you better get going?"

"Right, Al. See you _later_." He winked as he went out the door.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 – History

"Louisa, uhm… what do you mean? You don't understand me?" Martin's face held a confused look.

"There are times… you know, we are at sixes and sevens. I'm not sure why either. Is it you? Is it me? Or are we like oil and water and we don't just mix?"

Martin stood there looking sternly at me but then he started to relax. "Perhaps, but we can we work on that. Our history… hasn't always been…"

"Perhaps?" I crossed the room, unbuttoned his suit coat and ran my hands across his chest. "Yes, work on it…"

He squirmed a little then smiled. "Yes, we should." He grabbed my hands, but didn't push me away. "But about the other thing, I thought I made myself perfectly clear. I asked you a question. I asked what we should do now?"

"Well, for starters, you can try to relax a little." I pecked him on the cheek then pulled my pyjamas from the case I'd brought back from my rented cottage. "Going to the loo."

There were a lot of other things I'd have to bring back, like the rest of my clothes, James' toys, and all the other kit of a baby.

After chasing all over the coast and finding Mrs. Tishell and James it was quite a relief for a number of reasons to get home. Clive Tishell drove out to the Castle and took his wife to hospital, after a long chat with Ruth and Martin. Whatever the drug was that Ruth gave Sally, she looked dazed, but calm as they drove off.

On the drive back to Portwenn, Ruth and Joe kept up animated chatter in the back seat. I was just glad to have James back safe, though the poor little baby had to ride in his baby seat in the rear between Ruth and Joe as they argued over the top of his downy head.

"I'll have to file a report, won't I?" said Joe. "How will I write this up? Was it kidnapping or was it a medical incident?"

"Officer. I suggest that you simply write the facts. You didn't arrest her; you merely _assisted_ a citizen who was having a medical issue." Ruth sighed. "Honestly, keep it simple, won't you?"

"But, what about baby Glasson, erh, Ellingham? Oh, this would be a whole lot easier if you two had the same last name!" Joe inquired.

I reached over and touched Martin's hand on the steering wheel.

He gave me a questioning look. "Yes, we need to…"

"Sort it," I added but Martin did give me a smile.

"James is fine," said Martin. "Unhurt."

I chimed in. "Yes. Joe, I couldn't imagine that Mrs. Tishell would hurt James, at least not on purpose. What will happen to her?"

Martin pursed his lips. "I imagine anti-psychotic drugs, anti-depressants…"

"And counseling, lots of counseling," added Aunt Ruth. "Might take weeks, perhaps months. Her husband needs to be involved as well."

"Yes," agreed Martin. "I expect the village will need a new chemist for a time. When I call Chris Parsons, I'll mention that."

Ruth smiled. "Yes, good idea. You will let the PCT and Imperial know that you're staying? That is, you _are_ staying?"

He looked at me as I was waiting with bated breath for his answer. In spite of his professing his love, would he really stay? He did say he hated the village and the residents. But still… he did say he would always…

He moved his hand from the wheel and clasping my hand pushed it onto my lap. "Yes. I'm staying." He turned his head to mine and grinned, so I smiled too.

At the school Martin took James out of his restraints as Joe and Ruth continued their debate. Martin finally stopped them. "Look you two! It's done. James is fine, I'm fine and Louisa is fine. Continue your argument elsewhere!" He handed me the baby and took my hand.

"Alright, Martin. No need to be angry," sniffed Ruth.

"Yeah, Doc, you need to learn to be calmer, you know. Like Bert Large says, 'go with the flow.'" Joe stood there smiling. "So we're," he pumped his fists, "the Dynamic Duo again?"

I watched Martin to see how he'd react to our friendly yet odd constable.

Martin blankly looked at me then cleared his throat. "Louisa, I'll see you later. Last I heard I had an office full of unruly patients. Best be off," he said and then kissed me, full on the mouth.

Joe blew a wolf whistle as Martin got quite serious with his lips and he didn't make a verbal retort, but his expression was priceless. It was one of embarrassment, but also one of enjoyment.

I broke the clinch. "Bye, Martin. I'll be home in a little while."

"Right. Bye," he said, then got into the Lexus and drove away.

Ruth gave me an appraising look. "Was that my nephew who just kissed you in full daylight in public?"

"Yes, Ruth, it was."

She laughed. "I almost didn't recognize the man."

"Bye, Louisa," said Joe. "I'm glad me and the Doc could sort things out." He looked embarrassedly at Ruth. "And you too, Dr. Ellingham."

She patted his arm. "Right. Now, what say we go find something to drink? I could do with a red."

Joe said, "Well, I am on duty. But I could use a coffee."

The odd pair walked off as I went into the school. I was quite surprised to see that the entire school staff was sitting down with Bert as the children listened to him telling a ghost story.

"And there the gray figure sat in the stern sheets…" he paused for effect, "Just as spick and span as always… but his head was… clean off!" He drew his finger across his throat for emphasis.

The kids shrieked and some of the teachers jumped. It sounded like the 'Headless Fisherman' a story I'd heard a million times.

"Bert! Are you trying to scare the students?" I scolded. "This is a school, not a haunted house!" I noticed the teachers were rapt with attention while Al cleaned up the school kitchen. Good old Al who somehow had to clean up his father's messes. "And you lot!" I directed my words to my teachers. "Shouldn't you be teaching?"

"Well, you were away and it is Friday and…" said Sam.

I shook my head. "Alright, it is almost home time. Bert, you'd better not be giving my students any nightmares!"

Bert turned an innocent face to mine. "Why, Louisa! Just fillin' the kids in on local history is all." He laughed. "This is a school, isn't it?"

History. Yes, Martin and I had a history. And part of that history was sleeping soundly in his cot after a late night feed in Martin's cottage.

Martin followed me down the short hall to the bathroom to continue our discussion. "Louisa, I was asking what we should do next? About…"

I tapped his lips with a finger. "All in good time, Martin. The baby is sleeping, you know."

"Yes. I don't think we should… _disturb_ him."

I let that comment go while I brushed my teeth, used mouthwash, and shucked out of my dress as Martin turned away. "Martin?"

"Yes, Louisa." He stood there staring down at dirt and dust on his shoes and trousers from the path to Pentire Castle. "Oh, look at that! My suit is ruined!"

I crossed the room, took his chin in my hand. "Martin, look at me and not the bloody suit."

"Right," he answered sheepishly. "Uhm…" he muttered and tried to look away but I held his face firmly.

"No, just look at me."

"Right," he answered as he put his arms around me.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4 – Dear Old Dad

Al did the washing-up of their simple meal after Bert left the house. Two plates, two mugs, and two forks, one unused, as his dad always ate fish and chips 'al fresco.'

Al shook his head at the thought. His dad had been using the term for years, thinking it was some hoity-toity phrase meeting to eat with your hands. When Al was about sixteen he looked it up and found it meant to eat outside. He didn't ever have the heart to tell his dear old dad he was off the mark; so it was his little joke to himself.

He sighed as he wiped down the counter and the table where he had made the dinner, as well as helped the cook yesterday night. Dear old dad, he thought.

Bert was no rocket scientist, but by god given no real education and a lifetime of making a living off the decaying plumbing of the village, he had got on. A single parent after mum died, he'd done right well, if not always in the money department. The two of them never starved, and dad had always seen that he was scrubbed for school and his clothing, if not brand new, was serviceable.

Al loved Bert, for all his failings. But the man had brass. He was always trying new ventures and schemes. Al had asked him once, "Why? Why try so hard, all the time?"

Bert gave him a blank stare for a minute. "Why Al, don't you know? I know that a lot of my ideas don't work out. But by heavens I keep trying! Always trying, don't I?"

His dad was always gabbing away about new ideas, old stories, pithy sayings and home-grown philosophy. Al had a certain feeling that some day when the Grim Reaper came to tap Bert on the shoulder, dear old dad would try to entertain the dreary fellow with a story about stopcocks, drains, or how to debone a fish with only a mussel shell to delay the inevitable as Bert could talk the ears off a chamber pot.

And then there was his mum. Al sighed regretfully. Mum. She'd died when he was about three months old. He was fuzzy on the details as Bert would tear up and clam up at the thought. The few pictures there was of mum showed a tiny smiling woman, dwarfed by her husband, who was quite large even then. She was from Portsmouth, and had traveled to the village to see a distant cousin's friend – a man. Apparently that meeting with a potential husband had not worked out, that much he'd been told, but while waiting for the bus to Parkway Station had met Bert. As they say, the rest was history.

Al had not quite gotten the straight story if Bert _was_ his biological father, as Bert had admitted that there had been an affair of some sort between mum and _someone_. Yet Joan Norton had asked him plainly if Bert was _not_ his father, would he ignore the man or abandon him? Wisely he had realized that Bert _was_ his father in everything that meant.

Al looked around the cramped kitchen of the Large Restaurant. He wondered what his mum would make of the dingy walls, packed counters, and mismatched cooking equipment.

He sniffed. "Nothing for it, Al! Let it go. Go with the flow," he chanted as a mantra.

He scanned the dingy room once more. "Right dad, I _will_ see you _later_." He checked his watch. There was still a little time to watch football on the telly before he had to go out.

000

Bert Large moved his bulk slowly across the terrace of the restaurant, feeling every bit of his age. "Oh, these damp nights are killing my feet, my knees, and my hips! Ha-ha! As well as the rest of me."

Seeing something on the ground he bent down to inspect it. A fish carcass, head with bones and ripped fins, lay on the concrete.

"What's this?" He shook his head sadly. "That Al, I told him to put the bin lids on firmly. Probably some dog or cat has been into the scraps!"

Grunting, he bent over and scooped up the smelly tattered remains. Then he looked sharply in the light of his torch at what was left. "That's funny!" He was looking where flesh had been torn off the backbone. "This wasn't cut, just torn off. Claws or teeth?"

He dumped the remains into the wheelie bin and made sure the lid was clamped on tightly. He ran his hand along the plastic bin where scratches were visible. "Scratched up my bin too!" He shone his torch from side to side looking about through wisps of fog. "Hm. Nothing there. Not now anyway."

Hearing voices on the street, he climbed the stairs painfully to the lane and he saw a batch of people standing there waiting.

"Hello! Hello!" he shouted to the small group gathered. "I'm Bert Large, and I'll be takin' you on a bit of ramble tonight! If you think this is a pub crawl then you signed up for the wrong crawl!"

Most laughed at his joke. He could see there were fourteen folk waiting, if he counted them right. The sun was long gone and the pale lights on cottages and shops gave a soft pearly glow through the gathering mist.

"I've lived in this village for my whole, life, and I'll be tellin' about some of the spooks and goblins that have been reported. Notice, I say, reported! Perhaps some of those things that go bump in the night were after a few pints?" He smiled as they chuckled again.

"Be that as it may, I hope you're all bundled up as this mist is getting thicker and colder. But first things first! If you could just pass your money up here, I'd appreciate it." Cash was passed through the crowd, but some people clutched their money and handed it directly to him. Being engrossed with counting money, he paid scant attention to faces, ages, or genders.

"Thank you, thank you." He flashed his torch about. "That it?" He counted heads and the number there times ten matched the money in his hand. He wadded the money up and stuffed into a pocket. "Great, now. Where you folks from? Just call it out."

He listened as the names of various towns such as Padstow, Falmouth, Launceston and Dawlish where yelled out.

"Fine, fine. All good towns and cities. Now I expect you have your own versions of hauntings and specters and such back home. Well out here in _Portwenn_ we have some special ones!" he said proudly.

"Have you always been doing these outings?" asked a pretty woman, about thirty-five or so.

He smiled broadly, as he always treated ladies smartly. "Some time back we did 'em a lot, not so much until now." He cleared his throat. "Now then, let's go down the hill to the Lifeboat Station, and I'll tell you about the Missing Lifesaver!"

"Sounds like a piece of candy!" muttered one wag.

"No, no candy! Just a tale of intrigue and danger! Look smart now. We have ground to cover." He set a brisk pace, if his waddle could be called brisk.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 – Stay

I beheld Louisa Glasson, who was standing with her hand holding my chin. She was wearing only pants and a nursing bra, and I had to take a deep breath to concentrate on what she had just said. Look at her? My God, how could I not? I wrapped arms about her and her slim arms returned the favor.

"You're still wearing your suit, Martin. While, I'm…"

"Yes?" I looked down at her loveliness. Three months' time postpartum had slimmed some of her baby weight, other than the obvious at breasts and tummy. We hadn't been this close, since almost a year ago. And then we were very close.

"Hardly fair, do you think?" She tossed her lovely brunette hair. "Now about that suit…" She started to unfasten my tie, when my mobile rang. "Don't answer it."

"I should."

She stretched up and nibbled my neck. "Don't."

"I… should answer."

"Alright," she said sadly. "Spoil sport."

I flipped the phone to my face. "Ellingham."

"Mart! It's Chris. Parsons!"

"Yes, Chris?"

"Sorry I missed your call earlier, Emily and I went out to dinner after a brutal day at hospital. What's going on? Ready to head off to London?"

Louisa looked up me, her eyes liquid. "No. Not," I told him.

"Not another delay! My God, man! You have NO idea how hard it will be to hold off the next GP. As it is, I've had to settle for a locum out there; not many want to go there in the fall. Now when it's sunny at the coast and not raining I can't hold them off, but the way you keep changing your mind…"

"Chris! Shut it, would you?"

"Oh, that's rich! Now what? Has the baby got a hangnail?"

Louisa was hearing this. "Tell him," she whispered. "Please."

I put my right arm firmly about Louisa, holding the mobile in the other. "Wait a minute." I looked at the keypad and turned it to speakerphone. "You're on speaker, Chris."

"Oh, right. Who's there?"

"I'm here Chris," replied Louisa.

"Are you alright? Anything wrong?"

I looked with pride at Louisa's face, her glowing eyes beaming up at me.

"Nothing's wrong Chris. Not a thing. Not a blessed thing." As those words came out of my mouth, I felt like a great weight was lifted off my shoulders.

"Oh? Well, don't keep me on tenterhooks, you two!" he grumbled.

I took a deep breath and the air was sweet as it rushed into my lungs. "Chris, I'm calling to tell you…" I looked down at Louisa and smiled. "That I'm staying, in Portwenn, that is. I'd like to stay as the GP, if you'll have me."

"Right," came from him nervously. "You're joking? This is some sort of prank. No, wait, you don't make jokes, do you?"

Louisa hugged me tightly. "That's right, Chris. I'm staying."

"Well, you'll be head and shoulders over anyone else I could find."

I bristled. "Considering the last BP you sent out here was a blithering idiot and that husband of hers wasn't much better!"

"Yes, Dr. Dibbs was not the pick of the litter was she?"

"No! Not at ALL!"

"But, you're staying, really?" Chis asked again. "Really? You're being honest?"

I pointed to the phone as Louisa licked her lips as she looked like she wanted to speak.

"Honest as the day is long, Chris. We're…" She cleared her throat. "Together, again."

"For how long?" he asked in shock. "My God, that's wonderful. EMILY!" he yelled. "Mart and Louisa are back together! He's going to stay!" he shouted.

"God! Chris; not so loud!" said Louisa.

"Brilliant! So what brought this on?" he asked.

I heard a click as another voice got on the phone. "Martin? Louisa? It's true then? My God. I've been praying…"

I sneered a bit. "Yes. I'm staying in Portwenn. Louisa and I are back…" Louisa gave me a squeeze about the chest. "Together."

Blubbering noises came over the connection. "Louisa, oh, that is so…" sobbing went on from Emily Parsons. "Great. I am soooo happy for you! Chris we must have them for dinner or meet somewhere or…"

Louisa smiled broadly as I saw a tear slide down her cheek. "Emily, I'll call you soon and we'll arrange things. Alright?"

"Fantastic. Well… Chris, ring off. Let those two be." She trilled. "I am so happy for you!"

I was not used to hearing people shout peals of joy into my ear, but looking down at Louisa if it made her happy, I would put up with it. "Right." Perhaps I would learn to even _like_ it as well.

"Bye, Emily," Louisa added.

Chris sighed again but I detected a hint of relief. "Well, Mart so much for London. Their loss is our gain. You've told them?"

"Yes," I answered. "I thought Southwood would come straight through the phone and punch me."

"Well, I can only imagine, given how you've messed him about for months." He took a deep breath. "But, I did want to ask you, we admitted a woman from your village, a Mrs. Sally…"

"Yes, I know. Schizophrenia with a psychotic break secondary to erotomania."

Louisa let me go. "I don't need to hear this. I'll just go check on James."

I nodded as she let her arm trail across my shoulders as she glided down the hall. I took Chris off the speaker. "Tishell. Yes, she had the most horrid fixation on me; obviously had it for quite a while."

"And the poor woman wanted to do what?"

"Steal our baby and set up housekeeping with me, apparently. Not sure what she planned to do with her husband, though."

"Yes I met the man. Poor fellow. Big guy too. Glad you don't have to duke it out with him, aren't you? Well, she's admitted. I only heard about it when there were rumors floating up from A and E that Mrs. Ellingham was being admitted. I rushed right down there, thinking something had happened to Louisa Glasson. Very relieved to see it wasn't your girl. Tishell? She was telling them in the department she was your wife."

"_Not_ Louisa, obviously. She's standing about five feet from me giving me a dirty look. I think she wants me to get off the mobile." I told him as Louisa crooked her fingers at me. "Must go, Chris."

He laughed. "It's only starting, Mart. Just you see! Congrats! Give her a big kiss for me!" He hung up.

I stepped over to Louisa who held out her slim hand.

"What?" I asked.

"Give me that phone."

"Why?"

She grabbed it and switched it off. "There. Now about that suit…"

"But James is right here. In his cot." I was startled. "He's…"

"You said it yourself, Martin. He's fine. He's _sleeping_." She grinned wickedly.

"Now," Louisa said as she took my hand and her soothing voice dropped to a whisper. "About your suit…"


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6 – Gone to the Dogs

Two weeks _before_ what was known later as the 'Mrs. T thing' Carla Polwin stood toe-to-toe with PC Joe Penhale in the village police station and glared at him as she shouted. "My Edwin is missing! So do something!"

"Mrs. Polwin, I'm sorry he's missing, but what can I do?" Penhale answered nervously. Mrs. Polwin had gone into the police station very upset and had cornered him behind the counter so Joe could not escape. The front room was small, with the length split by a tall counter, behind which she now had him cornered.

Carla Polwin was a feisty lady in her forties who ran a tiny newsstand up at the top of the village. Hadn't lived in the village very long and Joe didn't know her too well. She was not one to be trifled with, he did know that for a fact. She'd once chased down and tackled a teenager a whole foot and half taller than she was to keep him from nicking candy from her shop.

From her five foot frame, her green eyes flashed under the mop of red hair as she bore in on him shouting and Joe felt very strange. What he felt must be the opposite of agoraphobia, he knew. What was it called? Of yeah - claustrophobia - the fear of small places. He tugged at his collar which suddenly felt too tight as he started to perspire and shake.

Carla kept at him. "Do your bloody job!"

"Now! Now! No need to get nasty." He picked up his pad and began to write. "So how old is the little fellow?"

"He's five," she sniffed. "Almost six."

"Description? Hair and eye color."

"Well, he has brown eyes and his hair is sort of a dusty brown."

"Dusty brown?"

"Yes, with little patches of white!"

Joe looked sharply at her. "Brown and white? Now that's a very odd combination of hair color. Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure, you moron! I was there when he was born!"

"Goes to figure. And please don't insult me. I know that I have my issues… But back to Edwin. Weight and height?"

She wrinkled her forehead as she thought. "Oh, I'd say he weighs about ten pounds and is quite small."

"Well, if he's only ten pounds… but you said he was five? Five years old?"

"Yeah; almost six."

"Mrs. Polwin, I'm beginning to think that you should take Edwin to see the Doc. He's almost six years old and he's that little? What have you been feeding him?"

"The usual sorts of food, but he really likes cod and haddock both and really loves those leather chewy things. And why would I take him to see Doc Martin?"

Joe blew out air; the woman was daft. "So, you don't see anything wrong with your son being that small at age six?" He rolled his eyes. And he thought he had issues. This lady was totally Bodmin! Probably need to contact Child Protection.

"Son? Son? Joe, Edwin is my dog!" She laughed so hard she bent over holding her sides.

"Oh," his face fell. "He's your _dog_?" He smacked his forehead. "Silly me."

"God, Joe! Sorry." she laughed quite a bit more. "I should have said straight away!"

Joe wagged a finger in her face. "It's not my job to find your dog."

"Well who else will do it? I've started to put up flyers and talked to the neighbors, but he's gone. Pffutt. Like that." She wiped her eyes. "And it's his birthday in a few weeks, and I had the loveliest party planned."

Joe shook his head in disbelief. "You're having a birthday party – for your dog?"

"Of course I am. What? You didn't have birthday parties when you were little?"

"Yes, I did; me and my brother." Joe thought sadly about his brother who'd left the village under a cloud after the Doc caught him out painting counterfeit artwork. He smiled brightly at Carla. "We did. But then we weren't dogs."

That really did it as she started to drive a finger quite hard into his shoulder. "Listen here you tosser!" she shouted. "My little dog is missing. He's a Yorkie mix, white and brown. So get onto it! What do you do up here anyway? Or do you just drive around in the police Bedford all day wasting time?"

Joe sighed deeply. "No, that's not what I do!" He tried to slide his pad of paper off the counter that was covered in doodles so she wouldn't see it.

"Oh? What then?"

He gave her his best Clint Eastwood stare. "Police business; Mrs. Polwin. Police stuff. I don't expect you to understand."

"Please, Joe? Please? All I did was let my little doggy out the other night into the garden and he didn't come back! I heard his barking some, then nothing. I suppose I went out after ten minutes and called him, but nothing. I didn't see anybody or anything, and certainly not Edwin!"

"Carla, I'm a policeman, not a dog catcher." He rolled his eyes. "Really."

"Right," she sniffed. "But keep a lookout will you? And poor little Edwin isn't the only pet missing either. I heard Mr. Mylor say his cat was missing and old Mrs. Eddy told me that her dog went out one night to do his business and didn't come back, just like Edwin!"

"Ah. Real police work that."

"Just find my bloody dog, would you?" She whirled away and slammed the door behind her.

Joe sighed. "God, it's a good thing Maggie went back to Bude or she'd see I've been turned into a lowly dog catcher," he said sadly.

Maggie, he so missed Maggie, his ex-wife. Poor Mags. She had no idea that she had divorced him when she showed up in the village, as she'd lost her memory somehow. And it wouldn't be fair to keep her here, what with her not remembering their divorce as well as _why_ they got divorced. Her amnesia seemed to be getting better or so Doc Martin said in the few says she'd spent with him. So he had to send her back to her hair dressing shop in Bude, where her sort-of fiancé was waiting. Joe sighed. He'd not let on how hard it was to make her sleep alone in the house even though he'd been mighty tempted to go down the hall.

He sighed as he remembered her visit, which was all too short. Then there was the whole Mr. Coley case where the Doc had gone up on the roof to get the poor dazed fool school janitor down. Then he had to try and make a big hero of himself and get stuck halfway up that damn ladder. "Joe, you were so stupid to do that!" he said. "And all to impress Maggie too." He whacked himself on the head again and once again for good measure. "Stupid, stupid." He saw stars. "Ow… that hurt."

He so missed Mags, more than he could tell her. Joe went back to doodling on his pad on a clean sheet. But this time instead of squares, triangles and circles, he wrote the words _Maggie_ and _Mags_ over and over and over.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7 – At Sea

The group of men and women, mostly older, followed as Bert Large walked at a snail's pace to the harbor. Some carried cameras or torches, but everyone was muffled and wrapped up against the mist, which cut like a knife. There were also two children along, a young girl and a bored looking teen boy. Bert keep his eye on that one, as the lad reminded him too much of Al at that age; likely looking for trouble.

Bert stopped outside the Lifeboat Station. "Now then, this coast has been home to shippers and fishermen, for many a year! And since 1869 there's been lifesavers here in Portwenn. Originally the station was up the hill there," he pointed up one of the narrow streets, "but about eighty years back it was established right down here at the harbor. But long ago, afore the station was regular like, it was volunteers, fisher folk, who kept the harbor and the surroundings safe, all to save life and limb."

"Oh?" asked a critical female voice. "But not always, isn't it true?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Bert said. "Now…"

"I'm talking, Mr. Large, about the days of wreckers and pirates," replied an older thin woman, standing erect in tweeds and sensible shoes. "How they used to lure ships onto the rocks!"

Bert laughed, seeing that he was losing his audience. "There might have been a few things like that, once. But it was long before my time. Now, about the 'Missing Lifesaver'…"

"Mum," asked the little girl. "Tell me about the wreckers – the pirates?"

Bert waved his hands to fend off this distraction. "Now!" he spoke very loudly, "as I was _saying_! The lifeboat got called out in all sorts of weather, sunny and fair and dark and stormy. One dark night…"

"Isn't it always?" spoke the wag at the back.

Bert cleared his throat. "They got the call about a fishing boat from Padstow, got blowed up here by a storm, and they got hung up on Lunker's Reef, just out there." He waved his torch in the general direction of the sea. "The waves was a pounding and tearing the boat to pieces! Sails flapping, spars splintering and tearing away and the water comin' in!"

"Now." He grew serious. "Imagine if that was one of you," he pointed to various people in the group, "out there hanging on for dear life as the ship went to pieces about you?"

"The usual story," the man at the back yawned.

Bert grew animated and waved his arms to and fro. "The waves were rushing thirty feet up the cliffs, the wind was a howling, and somehow one of the lifesavers seen a distress beacon out there. He rung the alarm and they all came a runnin'! Seven brave souls in all, they set out in one those old-time wooden rowed boats, no motors in those days! By a miracle they got through the waves and got to the wreck. Making those sailors one by one crawl from their sinking ship to the lifeboat. Ladies and gentlemen, can you imagine the bravery, the valor it took to do that? It's enough to make me proud to be a Cornishman – people of the sea – linked to it forever." Here he put his hand over his heart and looked very solemn.

"Now those rocks out there," Bert pointed again into the darkness with his electric torch, "had ripped the belly out of that fishing smack and she was going fast!"

"But, horrors, they had to leave one of the rescue crew aboard with the last three fisherman, waiting for a return trip, as they filled the boat with the shipwrecked crew some of 'em injured and half-drowned! And when that lifeboat went _back_ into the maelstrom once more to get the last of the sailors off only the fishermen were left hanging on! They said the lifesaver had gone below decks to check on the flooding and then he disappeared. Gone without a trace! Just the fisherman left aboard! The lifesavers looked and looked, both on board and in the water – but their man was _gone_!" He snapped his fingers. "Like that! The sea was rising fast and the fishing crew had to be taken off, so they pulled away from the wreck."

"And they never found him?" asked the little girl.

Bert bent down to face her. "No, sweetheart, they didn't! Not that they didn't look, you see. But on stormy nights when the boats are out there at sea, just offshore, they sometimes hear a voice calling for pickup. 'Help! Help! I'm over here!' he calls out. Time and time again they have looked, but the man is _never_ found, but they do _hear_ him!"

Bert laughed and delivered the punch line to the story. "And every since then on foggy nights when the lifeboat's gone out they always carefully count how many go out and how many come back!"

The young blonde woman held the man standing next to her and commented sourly, "Well, that's not much of a ghost story."

Bert bristled. "Not much of a ghost story? Humph. What did you expect? Rattling chains and phantoms?"

"Well," said an older man in the back with a heavy accent. "I do rather like it – the story I mean. Foggy night, shipwreck, lost sailors, life service to the rescue, a missing man, and now a ghost!" He chuckled. "Reminds me of the time…"

"Not now Ian," said a heavy woman standing next to him. "Let the man tell _his_ story, would you?"

Bert gave her a quick salute. "Thank you, ma'am, for your assistance." He glared at the man. "But you , mate! Maybe you can lead my next tour?" he asked sarcastically.

"Sorry," came a muttered reply.

"Now! Let's step around the corner to the Whaler B&B here and have a drop of hot refreshments. I'm especially fond of their hot toddy or maybe some tea?" Bert pointed the way to the B&B just steps off the Platt, the flat area above the beach in the harbor.

He shepherded his charges around the corner, as he tugged his jumper up to his ears. "Lord, it is cold tonight." A wind had picked up and the fog thickened even more. Bert glanced at his watch. "Right on time, so far," he whispered aloud then went into the B&B for a hot drink.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8 – PC to Doc

Doctor Ruth Ellingham sipped the last of her red wine. "So, constable, I really want to speak to you about the way you deal with people in the village." Ruth and Joe had been sitting in the Crab and Lobster pub for about twenty minutes after their return to Portwenn from Pentire Castle.

PC Joe Penhale looked at her sheepishly. "Now you're going to be telling how to do my job?" he played with his coffee cup, which was nearly full as he'd not touched it.

"No," said the criminal psychologist. "But you know, people generally don't like the overbearing approach. It's been my experience that slower and steadier…"

Joe held up a hand to stop her. "I know, I know. You're gonna' say that I should be more reasonable with people."

"Well, yes. Like that poor woman today. Joe, we just squeeked out of a tense situation. I really don't think you should be running around waving a baton at people to keep the peace."

"Pepper spray and negotiation. Those are my two best tools. I don't use a baton."

Ruth sighed deeply. This man is almost mad himself, she thought, or at least delusional. "Joe, I'm very glad you didn't use pepper spray on Mrs. Tishell and baby James!"

"No! Wouldn't have done that. But back to Sally Tishell," his voice dropped so no one else could hear him. "Now if you ask me, that woman always had something off about her. All that time, she was a mooning over the doc trying to get close to him. With her Clive off workin' on an oil rig, all these months and years, no _wonder_ she got _lonely_. And as we were taking her back towards the car, she was babbling about some big yellow jumper she'd run up for the doc. Kept asking what he'd done with it."

"Hm. " Ruth pursed her lips. "Yes I do agree that her behavior was strange," now her voice grew soft as well. "But we should keep her name quiet. The woman is ill. Very. It's been my experience that bit by bit she was having this problem and you all just got used to it. Like a dazed sheep wondering further and further from the fold until one day – snap – wild dogs get her."

Joe nodded. "Yes, I understand." He gave her a conspiratorial wink. "Right you are Doctor Ellingham! We'll keep it quiet." He chuckled. "It seems weird to me to have _two_ Doctor Ellingham's in the village. And we almost didn't have any at all when the Doc, I mean Doctor Ellingham, I mean your _nephew_ Martin was leaving town."

"Yes, I heard all about it," she said. Considering every person she had met in the village wanted to tell her all about it; she had heard it, around two hundred times. "So. Martin was really leaving? He'd left? "

"Yep," Joe nodded. "Removal vans boxed his stuff and took it. Then there was a medical problem on the Platt during Harbor Day, and the Doc sorted that, with vodka, of all things. Then he realized that Tommy in his taxi was just as sick, or soon would be as his wife. He called Louisa Glasson on her mobile and took off. To the rescue! Woosh!" He flew his hand like an airplane accelerating and taking off. "Straight away!. I'd have liked to go with him, of course, we two are the Dynamic Duo, but I had to stay behind with the other victim."

"Right," said Ruth, in such a way to try and keep him on task, which was difficult. "So he actually left in his car? Someone told me he actually helped deliver their baby in a pub?"

"No, he didn't, I mean he was there, we heard that over the phone, but the EMS lady delivered the baby. I imagine that Doc Martin could have sorted it without help. Right then he and Louisa were at loggerheads, her all pregnant, ready to drop at any moment with him heading off to London to be a surgeon again." Joe shook his head sadly. "It just tore of all us up, Doctor Ellingham to see those two fighting and tearing one another to pieces. Those three months between Louisa coming back from London preggars and the baby's birth it was terrible. She kept tellin' him she was fine, don't bother and him looking like he'd just slammed a finger in a door. On again – off again. And that Doctor Montgomery was mixed in there somehow too."

"Yes, Edith Montgomery," said Ruth. She drank the last of her wine and examined the dregs through the glass. She wrinkled her nose. "I only met her but once. Twenty years back. I couldn't see what Martin saw in her. I couldn't stand the woman. Then she went abroad, luckily. America, somewhere."

"Well," Joe brightened. "Now he's with Louisa and they have a baby and all. We were all so happy when the baby was born; greeted them at hospital and back in the village. Shame about Joan Norton passing the way she did."

"Yes. Shame about Joan." said Ruth slowly. "So Joe, tell me. You were married; what happened?"

Joe looked around the small room, and seeing only the barman, scooted his chair quite close to Ruth. Now his voice was even lower in volume. "Doctor, me and Mags, that is Maggie, we were quite right for a long time. But over time she started urging, I guess a better word would be nagging, for me to get on, get more training – move up in the force. Make something of myself."

"But that didn't work, I take it."

"No. I got… uhm… injured. Had to leave work for a while then…" he looked away. "I feel funny talking to a shrink about it. Sorry, Doctor."

"A shrink?" Ruth laughed. "I've been called worse. Working for the courts and prisons I have been called everything from a dried up prune to a… well, you can imagine," she added dryly.

Joe nodded. "Yeah, I can. You dealing with toughs, hoodies, druggies, murderers, wife beaters, drug runners, terrorists…"

"Yes, some of those, " interrupted Ruth. "Most are just lost souls who got into trouble."

Joe smiled at her. "What I wouldn't like to have a real crime… granted I'm not hoping for any more misfortune here; a kidnapping was bad enough!"

"Well, my policeman friend, before you wish anymore trouble down on Portwenn, let's just deal with what we have today, shall we?"

"You're probably right, Doctor."

"And another thing. You said it yourself. Two Doctor Ellingham's is absurd. So just call me Ruth and I'll call you Joe, if that's alright."

"Oh… ok," he answered hesitantly.

"Yes, and Joe?"

"Yes, Doc…uhm, Ruth?"

"Tell me more about your ex-wife. I heard she had amnesia when she arrived from up north."

Joe ducked his head. "I'm not sure I want to talk about that. "

Aunt Ruth stretched out a wrinkled hand and touched his. "Joe. tell me."

Joe let out a deep breath. "Ok. We did work grand together today, didn't we? Maybe between you, me, and the Doc - we could be the Terrific Trio?"

Ruth kept a straight face, having heard many absurd things over the years of her professional work. She looked at Joe Penhale, his smiling face practically glowing as he had gushed about his ex-wife. This man needed help, but perhaps at first he just needed a friend. She nodded. "Go on."

"So," he said "I'm just really glad that Mags left Portwenn before I ended up chasing down missing pets. As near as I can tell, there have been about a dozen animals disappear hereabouts in the last two weeks or so. I'd hate for her to know my job is tracking down dogs."

"Do tell. You know it's funny that you mentioned dogs. That little white dog of Joan's has gone off somewhere too. What is his name? Oh, yes... Buddy. Haven't seem him for days."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9 – Practical

"Now," Louisa said as she took my hand and her soothing voice dropped to a whisper. "About your suit…"

I looked down her long slim, nearly bare body. "Yes." The suit is not what I wanted to speak of. "But… it's just three months… uhm, since James was born."

"Yeah, and it's been way too long love," she purred, sliding her arms off my chest and sliding my coat from my arms. "Let me help…"

My arms dropped from Louisa's lovely skin, not because of any lack of enthusiasm, rather due to a heightened sense of caution, for her sake. I didn't exactly help her, but I didn't hinder her either to pull my coat away. As the coat came off and she draped it on a chair I impulsively backed up a step turned and went to the window.

"Martin? Don't… go. Please."

I stared out the window at the gathering fog, its tendrils filling the lane below and obscuring much of the dark ocean, but here and there lights shone through the mist. I saw a lone figure walk up the lane and past the cottage. I didn't seem to recognize them, as it was dark and foggy. His gait seemed familiar, although this male - had to be a man with no hip roll; definitely a man - continued up the lane, carrying something over his arm.

"Martin? Is something wrong?" Louisa said and her sad tone made be turn to face her.

"No… I was just wondering… if we should do this." I stood in my cottage, in my own bedroom, gazing at the woman that I loved, the mother of our son, and I was afraid to touch her. "I mean, there are practicalities… we should discuss." I finished very hesitantly.

Her gray-blue eyes fell. "Oh. But, I thought…" her voice shook, "you said… and I said…"

"I know," I sighed. "But the last couple of times, we did this, we uhm…"

"Yeah," Louisa's eyes fluttered and she stretched out a slim arm, took her dressing gown and whisked it around herself. "Bad idea? Is that what you mean?"

"No!" I stepped closer to her, feeling like my back was to that cliff outside the Castle this afternoon. "We need to talk. Really talk."

Louisa sagged onto the chair where my suit coat was draped. "Right." Her teeth automatically sprang to her lip, a sure sign of tenseness.

"Look, it's just a year, about, since we, uhm…"

"Got engaged. I know."

"And we both know what happened at that time." I felt sweat break out on my body – palms of my hands, soles of my feet, armpits – as my heart beat faster.

Her lovely head shook up and down and her hands twisted together. "I got pregnant – we got pregnant."

"Yes… one of those times… last October."

"Martin! Do you have to be so technical about it? Should I just go? Is that what you want?"

"Louisa, no! That's _not_ what I'm talking about, for God's sake. I'm concerned about your, uhm… reproductive health is all."

"Oh." She said in surprise. "It's biology, Martin."

"My lord, Louisa, of course it's biology! I've been to medical school."

She chuckled a little. "Yes, I noticed all your diplomas downstairs. You don't want me? Is that it? Because I… had a baby? Well, Martin, I _am_ a mother, like it or not, and you are a father!"

I raised my eyes to the heavens. This must have closely paralleled a discussion of my parents, quite some time ago. I was saying the wrong thing, messing everything up, making a huge mistake, and so was Louisa. "No, yes, no. Damn it!"

She recoiled at my words and a stricken look came to her. She started to stand from the chair, and this was too similar to a very scary dream that I had once; more of a nightmare. That memory launched me to her side, dropping to one knee and pulling her back to a seated position. "Louisa, I'm saying this all wrong!" I took her hands in mine.

"You do have a _way_ at times," she sneered.

"Please. Let me say this. You told me that your post-partum checks were fine and that is good. And…"

She arched an eyebrow, with the lip chewing still going on. "You're worried you'll… we'll…" she laughed. "I'm taking precautions, Martin. That is I have…"

"Oh. I hope it's not birth control pills, as in a late thirties post-partum woman with a history of blood pressure issues, they are not indicated as they may cause…"

"Martin! I know. Doctor Mills talked to me about these issues six weeks ago!"

"That is good as an early repeat pregnancy given… certain things, might not be a good idea. So who is Mills?"

"My doc from hospital. Thank God that Edith Montgomery is gone, there's no way I'd ever let her near me again! That horrid…"

"Louisa, shut up! That is a name that I _never_ want to _hear_ anymore! Alright?"

"You never told me this before, Martin!" She rubbed my clasped hands where they still held her left trapped on her lap. "I _had_ wondered…"

My lip curled at the thought. "I want to forget _her_ and pay attention to _you_! Now back to…"

"Oh," she interrupted. "You never, uhm… fancied her?"

"Not in the last twenty years. She left for San Francisco and that was it. I stayed behind, in spite of all her urging. I forgot her, actually."

Louisa looked deep into my eyes. "So _never_ mention _her_, that it?"

I looked back at her. "Yes! Not ever again. I'd rather talk about us; about you. Your doctor; is he any good?"

"Yes, she is. Susan Mills. Quite nice. Reminds of the gynecologist I saw in London. Another very nice woman."

"And this Mills has examined you and…"

"Provided me with means and instructions. So no worries. I'm fine."

"Yes. It is necessary. After last time." I blew out a shaky breath. "I didn't want to bring it up, but being practical… well, James is barely three months old, you're in your late thirties and the risks of another unplanned pregnancy at this point…"

"Martin, shut it." She said, but she ruffled my hair playfully. "Yes, glad we had this talk. We need to do this more; just have a good old chat."

"I just didn't want to have you misunderstand my intentions, is all." I sighed. "You know outside the Coach and Four as I and that monster of an ambulance service man hauled Tommy outside, he became quite cross with me as I told him about Tommy's condition. So he suggested very strongly that everyone would be a whole lot happier if I kept my mouth _shut_."

"Martin?" she laughed. "You keeping your mouth shut would be like trying to stop the ocean. But you do need help with knowing _what_ to say and _when_."

I looked at Louisa and many of the misunderstandings we had flashed before my eyes. "Uhm, you as well… I mean, there are times that we don't get on."

"But we can _learn_, can't we? Talk about these things, before they get too monstrous." She looked downcast then brightened. "I _do_ love you."

She said it first. That was good. Very. "And I _love_ you. Yes, we can do that - talk." I looked deeply at her hopeful face. "But I think we should stop talking and…"

"And?"

I stood and pulled her to her feet. "I think the two of us should lie down on that bed before James wakes. Do you agree?"

Louisa snickered. "We have lost a lot of time, Martin."

I looked at my watch. "It's not that late. Look; only 9:30."

She ruffled my hair. "That's not exactly what I meant." Then she took my hand in hers.

"Oh?" I was puzzled but I kissed her anyway and judging from her passionate reaction that was exactly the best and most practical thing to do.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10 - Visitor

In the Whaler B&B Bert had settled his charges in the lounge, most taking tea or coffee. Those who wanted some a bit stronger had to give the owner a wink and a nod for 'a wee dram' in their selected beverage, as there was no license as a public house. He was glad to see that the young girl was having cocoa, as he didn't think youngsters should drink tea until they were much older, although the teenage boy was having a squash and was making faces about the flavor.

The various people wandered about or sat on benches and chairs, while two outside to have a smoke. Bert Large had wanted to smoke as a lad, but his father caught him and his friends smoking, and made them suck down a whole carton of the things. After the sickness eased, he never wanted to smoke another fag, and he didn't.

Bert kept an eye on the time, as he had two more stops to make. He was keeping his eye on the time, when the tall wag from the back of the pack; the one had given him a tough time before, walked across the crowded room.

"Mr. Large?"

"Call me Bert, everyone does."

"Well, I wanted to say again how sorry I am for… well, butting in out there."

"It's all right. And your name is?"

"Ian Hardcastle and my wife is Jennie. I must say that that little _encounter_ back there," he waved his hand towards the toilet, "was very good; very well done."

Bert wrinkled his face. "Back there? It's a toilet, Mr. Hardcastle." He laughed. "Although that one has been a devil; a right beast to me for many a year. That appliance, I know all too well, as my father installed it, and I have been waging war with the ancient thing ever since my dear old dad passed on. But since Tommy, the B&B owner is so tight-fisted, the flush valve is holding on for dear life, thanks to a bent hairpin and a dab of waterproof cement!"

Ian chuckled. "Very good, Bert. Keep it up." His voice fell to a whisper, and taking Bert's arm, put his mouth close to his ear. "I was saying to my wife Jennie that although the ghost story of the lifesaver wasn't really that interesting, you did weave in a good bit of local history, and your dramatic presentation! Nicely done! I wonder if you've ever been on the stage."

Bert chuckled. "No, just the local talent show. I do this an act with this ventriloquist's doll and I use a really terrible Italian accent, see…"

Ian cut him off. "You see over in Dawlish, we do the same things; ghost tours, pirates and such, but the knight is pure genius! Stands to reason with Tintagel not far away. A very spirited visitor!" he winked and patted Bert on the arm. "My hat's off to you, Mr. Large." He stuck a hand in his pocket and pulling out a five pound note, covertly slipped into Bert's damp hand. "Good show!" he whispered then sauntered back to his wife across the room.

Bert was not one to refuse money but in this case he was mystified as to what he had done that was so amazing. He turned his head and looked down the hall to the toilet. He didn't see anything or anyone, just the well-scuffed wooden floor, and the uneven plaster walls and ceilings, all of which were at least a hundred and fifty years old. He started to waddle that way, when the door to the toilet flew open and that teen boy came running out screeching at the top of his lungs.

"Oh my GOD!" The boy ran towards Bert, eyes wild, arms waving at a fall gallop, and almost bowled Bert over like a nine-pin. "Get away! Get away!" he yelled, adding a long wail at the end at the top of his voice.

Bert grabbed the lad, who was extremely upset. "Boy? What's the matter? Something amiss back there? Is that toilet busted again?"

"No!" the kid sobbed onto Bert's sleeve, as a woman ran inside from where she'd been smoking. "Not the toilet! It's not the toilet!" The child said then sagged to the floor, blubbering, his shoes pushing against the floor as if to keep up his escape.

"Alan?" asked the woman in a high voice. "What's the matter? Are you hurt?" She knelt down and hugged the boy, who continued to wail and squirm, his eyes wide and staring.

Bert looked down at the child. "Whatever is the matter, boy? Did you see a spider or somethin'?"

"A spider? You're crazy, man. Of course not a spider!" he murmured. He looked around the room, where now he was the center of attention. The kid put his hands over his face. "Mum, I want to go home! I don't like it here! Can we go, now? Just pack our stuff and go home!"

"But, dear! We're rented the cottage for the weekend, we're doing the coast path tomorrow." she rebutted.

A man came over smartly and looked down sourly. "Mildred. The boy's telling stories again! Another whopper! If it's not that the teacher misplaced his assignment or he somehow just happen to lose his anorak again! One more damn lie! I'm sick of it! And I told you this outing to this backwater…"

The woman stood and shouted into his face. "Shut it Gerald! Alan's behavior is… is understandable! He is a _sensitive_ boy! When will you understand it? Since we moved to St. Austell, he's had trouble making friends is all. Give the child a chance!"

The tableau was surrounded by the silent tour group, most looking away, but some directly looked at the family – about half nodding in apparent agreement – but to which side of the argument, none could, or would say.

Bert felt he had to defuse the situation, so he turned his attention to the boy. "How old are you son? Look to me like you're about fourteen or so?"

The boy nodded.

"Well, you're about how old my Al, my son was when he took a fright at some trick his friends played on him. Nearly made him jump out his skin!" He chuckled gently at the child. Poor little sod, he thought. Uprooted from his friends to a new town and just when things start to get all messy with puberty as well. "Tell you what?"

"What?" asked Alan.

"What say you and me go back there and you can show me what spooked you?" He laughed and held out his hand. "Best way I know to get past these things, whatever they are. I seen many a scary thing in these parts, but they mostly been inside a leaky old toilet!" He slapped his fat thigh. "Come boy, show me."

To the boy's credit he did take Bert's hand and stood. "Right," he sniffled but wiped his face. "Let's go."

Gerald smiled in agreement. "Best to go with the man, Alan." He turned to his wife. "If you approve that is, dear."

The woman bristled a little but then relaxed. "Ok. You're alright now?"

"Sure," the boy said. "Turn on that torch, Mr. Large. And lead on," he added, but his voice shook some.

"Alright," replied Bert. His voice dropped for the boy's benefit. "You're doing this for yourself and not your parents, right?"

"Right. Come on," Alan said and led the way down the hall.

The creaky door to the toilet was warped and gap-jointed and it swung shut behind Bert and Alan with a clunk after they entered the small room.

Bert whispered "Now, son, whatever got into you?" He flashed his torch around the dank little room, seeing only the ancient toilet and a rusty sink hanging on the wall. "Nothing here, boy. Just us two."

Alan gulped and turned his eyes slowing about the room, peering around Bert as he might peep around a wall.

"Well? Is this a trick you were playing on us?" Bert looked around.

"There's no one here," said the boy with a surprised tone. "No one."

Bert slapped him on the back. "Maybe there was a noise or the wind blew? These old buildings they do shake and quake a little when the wind is up."

The boy stared at Bert for a few seconds. "Guess I made a mistake, but there was somebody here. There was!"

Bert grinned. "Tell you what? Let's just say it was creaky pipes and not some old spider, right?"

"Wasn't a spider. Not a spider…" his voice trailed away. He rubbed his face with both hands.

"You been staying up late playin' them video games, maybe. Telling your folks you was in bed, but you was up real late playing on your computer maybe? My Al, he does computers and such sometimes. I known him to stay up 'til two or three in the AM, then have to get up and do work the next day. That it, maybe? A bit of sleep missing from your head?"

The boy relaxed a little and grinned sheepishly. "Well, maybe. But I swear…"

"That's ok, boy. Why don't you go on out and let me use the loo."

The teenager left slowly and Bert latched the door behind him. He dropped his trousers and boxers, settled himself on the toilet and groaned. "God almighty, Bert. You sure can have some strange adventures!"

He finished his chore and flushed. He stood, pulled up his trousers, and was fastening his belt when he felt a cold breeze. "Lord, this old building has more drafts…"

Then he heard a voice as a figure appeared in the spotted and ancient mirror over the sink.

"What's that?" Bert said aloud. Peering into the mirror he could dimly make out a clean-shaven man, dressed in chain mail, wearing a breastplate, and his hands shrouded in black gloves.

The cold breeze increased and chilled him to the bone. Bert laughed. "What in the hell…"

The figure in the mirror grew more distinct, and piercing dark eyes fixed him in place and he shook as he saw the intensity of that gaze.

"Protect!" said the figure. "Protect!"

"What?"

The figure in the mirror turned as if to walk away, but then turned his mail-clad head. "The hoard! Protect the hoard!" Then the figure faded and the mirror showed only Bert's reflection, which looked very timidly back at him.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11 – Pets II

Joe Penhale had left the Crab and Lobster after quite a long chat with Ruth Ellingham. Doctor Ellingham, or _Ruth_, he corrected himself, had a way of getting inside a fellow and scraping about without seeming like she was doing it.

But she was a friendly sort, even in her own slightly stuck up way. But Joe could forgive her stuffy ways, given she was from London like Doc Martin was. But in spite of that she Ruth had managed to get him to say things about Maggie, and himself, that he'd never told a living soul, and now he felt better for the telling.

Joe strolled along now, appearing to mind his own business, but all the while keeping his keen policeman's eye on people, cottages, and shops. At the corner of one of the narrow streets, he paused to look at a wall of missing pet placards that had been plastered there. He knew of around a dozen pets that had gone missing, according to what he'd been told directly, or by hearsay.

He sighed. He'd not seen Mrs. Tishell's on-going irregular behavior, so how could they expect him to find these dogs and cats! He swiftly counted the placards. Nine dogs and three cats. Granted some dogs do wander off, and he'd heard that old cats sometimes go off on their own to die, but this was getting ridiculous even for Portwenn. At this rate, there'd be not a pet in the village soon.

He stood there, thumbs over belt, reading flyer after flyer, when two boys ran up to him crying. "Say! What's wrong you two? Why are you crying?"

"Constable Penhale!" said the older boy, whose name was Billy Wilkens, who was ten or so. "Me and my brother was up on the headland, just walking along up there."

The younger one, name of Gil, butted in, "And there was somebody up there carrying some sort of electrical thing. We had just wandered over to see what was going on and he chased us!"

"Yeah and he yelled, too! Nasty sod," added Billy.

Joe waved his finger at him. "Now, now. Maybe he was checking the gas mains or finding a lost water pipe. No need to call him mean names. Probably a perfectly reasonable explanation."

The younger kid glanced at the wall of pet flyers. "Look, there's the one mum put up about Frank!" He pointed out a page showing a photo of a beautiful Sheltie. He ran off in that rainstorm the other night and never came back!" He hit the wall with his fist. "We'll find you boy. I promise."

"Oh? You boys missing a pet as well?" asked Joe.

"Yep," said the older boy. "Frank had never done anything like before. Weird. He's a nice dog, just three years old, but he was scratching at the door as the rains came down. My dad thought he needed to visit the back garden so he let him out. That dog shot out like a cannon and never came home."

Hm," said Joe. "He never ran away before?"

"Nope. Never," said Gil. "So PC Penhale, you looking for…" he waved at the placards. "All these?" The kid stopped and ran a hand over his face. "Our pets?"

Joe squatted down and faced the kid. "Son, I will. I have been looking, when I get the chance."

Billy tapped him on the shoulder. "Mum says that maybe he got bowled over by a car, our cottage isn't that far off the road. Maybe somebody hit him and carted him away to get aid. Maybe a vet might know something?"

"Maybe. Look, I'll make some calls."

"Right," said the little one. He wiped his face of an errant tear.

Joe stood up and looked carefully around. "Listen, I'll make some calls, and on my patrol I'll be on the lookout for Frank," he whispered to the brothers.

"That's great!" said Billy, "but why are you whispering?"

Joe craned his head to and fro, around the corner and then back again. "_Because_. Might be a gang of dog-nappers out and about. Might be anybody. So keep it quiet."

Billy and Gil nodded.

"And if you see something amiss, you let me know, straight away." Joe added.

"Like the man up on the headland? The one who chased us?" the little brother asked.

Joe smiled. "Right. Thanks for reminding me. Off you go then. Bets get back to work."

The kids ran away, slightly happier than they had been. Joe took out his radio and called Dispatch. "3021 Joseph Penhale," he spoke into the mic. "Can you tell me please the names of vets within a fifteen mile radius of Portwenn? The only one I know is old Darby Vellacot, out Pendoggett way."

A curt female voice boomed from the radio. "Vet? Did you say vet? You think Dispatch is a bloody directory? Get off the channel, will you Joe! Use the phone directory!"

Joe stared at the microphone. "I was just askin'…"

"Fool," came her voice and then she went off the air.

Joe slowly and sadly pocketed the radio. "I'm no fool." He tugged at his police jumper to straighten it. "Right. Now to find some vets." He went into the curio shop around the corner and asked to see their phone directory.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12 – Confidences

Martin was deliciously spooned against my bare back, with one arm around my waist, the other at the nape of my neck. I had both my arms crossed over his arm and it felt _very_ nice. James slept peacefully away in his cot, blissfully unaware that his parents were now – well how to say it? We were a couple once more.

Martin sighed. "You alright?" he whispered.

"Yeah. Yes, I am."

"I wasn't certain… how…erh, how things might go, with you, I mean." He spoke this slowly and hesitantly. "I tried to read… about…"

"Oh? Couples having sex after childbirth; that it?" I rubbed his warm arm.

"Yes. Sounded a bit…"

"Awkward?" I chortled. "Not half as awkward as being pregnant, Martin." I half turned and kissed his mouth. "You really have _no_ idea."

He looked intently at me in the dimness. "I didn't want to hurt you. That's all."

"Martin, it was fine, actually." I kissed him again. "More than fine; _way_ more than fine. Wonderful really." I didn't want to tell him that it wasn't actually; but it will improve over time.

His blue eyes shown in the dark. "When you came back… to Portwenn, I mean. You could have stayed here… in the surgery… with me, you know."

Did he just say that? "Oh? Didn't know that."

"Yes," he whispered, then buried his face in my shoulder. "I wanted you to stay, but I didn't know how to ask. You were so…"

"And I mucked the whole thing up with telling you that it wasn't your problem. That I'd be fine with the baby and all."

I felt him nod. "Yes. All a bit of a shock. You left the village for five months and then you came back, pregnant, and not a word."

I sighed and felt my eyes get wet. "I… I… well, I suppose I wanted to be back home in Portwenn but I wasn't sure…"

"That we'd get on? You didn't want to be with me. Didn't want to be together again."

How could I answer that? "I didn't know what might happen. I was upset about being _pregnant_, being _alone_, and being in _London_. And here you were all that time in _my_ village, which put me out of sorts. All I had to do was to call, or write, or even send a bloody email!"

There was a long silence. "But you didn't. Perhaps… couldn't."

"Yes." I kissed his cheek. "That's about it." But what I didn't want to admit to Martin was that I was afraid.

"You're an independent woman," he said matter-of-factly.

I sighed once more. "I had to be didn't I? No getting around that."

"Yeah. Terry and Eleanor weren't exactly the best parents, were they? Almost as bad as my parents."

"Why don't you want your parents to know about James, Martin? I've asked you several times, and you always say _no_; most definitely."

He squirmed and I felt him get tense.

"Martin? Come on; don't shut me out."

He rolled away from me onto his back and I could see his hands clenched into fists.

I rolled over and hugged him. "Martin, forget I said anything. Just act like…"

He ran his hands over his face and then looked wearily at me. "I don't want them… near him or us. They're both horrid, awful people. Mum and her Latin lover, dad destroying his liver night after night in his stuffy London club; self serving bastards both of them." He said sadly. "I'll not have them within a hundred miles of us.

"Oh. I'm sure that's for the best then." What they done to the man? Shipped him off to school, that much I knew. And he had spent a few summers with Joan and her late husband Phil. Never any real affection likely from his parents.

Those photos of Martin as a boy that Ruth showed me certainly showed signs of neglect, if not outright abuse, to me. The guarded look about his eyes, the set of his little mouth, the stiff way he posed in the pictures. There were depths there I did not want to plumb, at least not at the moment.

This lovely moment. I hugged Martin tightly, until the bad time passed for him and he relaxed, his hands relaxed and then caressed my back as we hugged face-to-face. No wonder he exclaimed today that James would not be like him, and he would not be like _his_ father! Definitely a statement of some sort, and good for him. More on that story later, perhaps.

He said, "I love you, Louisa Glasson. I missed you." And that was all there was to say for some time.

I suppose I drifted off to sleep for a while, vaguely remembering hearing little grunting noises from James in his cot by the wall, but then it all got dark.

Next I knew Martin was gone from the bed. The sheets were warm, but he was gone. I sat up, pulled on my dressing gown, and peered blearily at the clock. "Ten forty-five?" Not hearing any noise from James, I went to check on him and found his cot empty. The hallway was dark but I heard a voice and a clattering downstairs.

In the kitchen, Martin sat at the kitchen table in his dressing gown, cradling James and testing a bottle of milk against his arm. "Now," he said. "Young man, your mother has had a very hard day today, what with that mad woman taking you on an adventure. So let's let her sleep. She deserves it." He looked up. "Oh. You woke."

"Martin. Here let me take him."

"I've changed him." He held up the baby bottle. "Also warmed up the breast milk."

I smiled and took my son from his father and held the warm little bundle to my chest. "So have I."

I carried him upstairs then and settled into the rocking chair to feed our little boy. He nursed quickly, which was nice, as I was tired what with the too busy day. Work, with half the staff out with the flu, was such a hassle and then mad Mrs. T took James for a ride along with our frantic effort of finding him as we rushed from one castle to the other.

Then came those terrible moments as Martin acted out a Romeo-and-Juliet scene with Mrs. Tishell, while I prompted him from offstage. What sort of a twisted fairy-tale was that?

But now James was safe, with me; with _us_. I rocked him for a while until he was fully winded and sparko again. His little arm fell boneless at last and I knew he was settled.

Martin had come back upstairs, sat on the bed and dropped his dressing gown, revealing his bare body again. So much nicer than those awful blue pyjamas! He rolled into bed and lay there like a lump, but turned after a moment and held his head propped on his arm to look at James and me. Martin grinned and I smiled a lot back at him.

I tucked James into his cot with a little Paddington bear guarding him from the corner. I made sure he was on his side, held in place by a rolled blanket. I turned and saw Martin still watching me from our bed with bright eyes and a half-smile.

I crawled back under the sheets, shivering after ditching the dressing gown. I snuggled up to Martin and he flinched as my ice cold feet hit his leg. "Sorry, Martin. About my feet."

He wrapped his strong warm arms about me and whispered, "I'll warm you up." And he did.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13 – The Shrink

Joe Penhale _seemed_ a good sort, earnest, forthright, caring, if a bit gung-ho about policing. But he was no bully, obviously. But I realized that he did have an overblown vision of his own importance. His reference to movies and Clint Eastwood, the American actor, did give me pause as they were signs of something larger. He did have an overblown sense of worth, but given he was stuck out here in the village where he grew up, must have given him some idea that this was the bottom of the rung.

As we spoke in the pub, several times he looked about the room, each time holding up a hand signaling me to stop our conversation. The first time he did it, I didn't care, but the second and third time I wondered if he had a tic. Did he have Tourette's syndrome? I hadn't heard him utter any vocalisations that some have with the condition. I furrowed my brow and pursed my lips the third time.

"Joe, what are you doing?"

"Just checking my back, Ruth. Can't be too careful," he told me, smiling his odd toothless smile as he said it.

"Yes. Do you actually think someone in Portwenn would sneak up on you and drive a cosh into your cranium?"

"A cosh?"

"Yes, a sock or piece of cloth filled with sand, rocks, or something metal to make a lasting impression on your skull?"

"No, not really. I keep forgetting you been working with criminals your whole life."

"Not quite my whole life. Psychiatry treats people at all ages and genders."

"Ok." He smiled that odd smile of his. "Well, I'd better get back on patrol, Doctor Ellingham, I mean, Ruth. Thanks for the talk – about…" his voice fell, "Mags and me. I'll think about what you said."

I tapped him on the hand as he stood. "Now don't you fret."

"Right. See you." He left the pub, his coffee untouched, and I realized that his agreeing to come into the pub was an excuse for something to do. Poor fellow.

I used the toilet and went into the street, where a woman paraded past with a little dog on a lead. That reminded me again of Buddy, my sister's dog. He was a friendly little thing, if a bit high-spirited, but he _was_ missing since about Monday. I put out food and water for him but he certainly wasn't _my_ dog. From the way he acted near my nephew it's almost like the poor little thing thought he belonged to Martin. The dog seemed to rush back and forth from farm to village and about, but I didn't actually keep track of him. There were plenty of places on the farm for a dog to get too, so I wasn't worried, yet.

The dog was an orphan, in a way, I realized and perhaps he was feeling out of sorts, as Martin must have felt with Joan's death. I sighed. Like it or not, and in spite of Martin's exclamation of hate for the village, I quite liked it here. The sea air was breezy and clean, and it was peaceful, mostly, but I'd been warned by Al Large that winters could 'blow the skin off your bones and the eyes out of your head.' Well, I'd find out I supposed. I could retreat to my flat in London, but I had been considering letting that out for a partial lease, until I knew for certain I'd stay in rural Cornwall.

I drove back to the farm and found a strange olive-green van, almost military looking, but not, about a quarter mile from my gate on the road. It was pulled off into a layby, and I stopped and peered about, but didn't see anyone. I hoped it wasn't someone shooting pheasants on the farm. As tasty as the creatures were, I'd much rather people would ask, before they went rambling about.

The car went by the house and changed into walking shoes then went on a lookout about the grounds. Al Large was in town and the farm being far away, if I had company, I wanted to know it. My field glasses helped me focus on two moving dots across one of the larger fields. It was two men. One dressed in a fatigue jacket, the other in a blue jumper and slouch hat. The one in the hat had a rucksack over his shoulder as well.

I set out towards them, the wind was at my face and I was downwind from the figures, thereby muffling my approach. I once had an excursion with a very nice Detective Sergeant Clarke who received a radio call during the ride, and I was unknowingly pulled into a manhunt. The DS let me accompany him across vale and fields, very much like this one. Cyril apologized for my shoes getting quite muddy on the way, and my trousers as well, since I had dressed for foul weather. That was interesting – we had not caught the missing man who'd run during a shop heist – but the DS's flat was quite cozy later, especially the fire grate while my clothes dried by it. The wine wasn't bad either, if I remembered correctly.

That's the day I found that the professions of police and psychiatry could cooperate, quite satisfactorily as it turned out. That memory made me smile. I was quite sad to hear that Cyril had retired and moved to Pago-Pago. Not certain if he really liked the tropics, or had merely decided to end our occasional, yet ongoing, trysts in such an extremely non-confrontational way.

Putting those happy memories aside, I came up on the two men, one who held a metal detector, the other a GPS system, their heads intently lowered over their electronic gear. "Can I help you?" I asked politely but loudly.

They were clearly startled as I'd walked up on their blind side. I was still ten feet off, but they whirled about as if there was a squad of Royal Marines had just called them out.

"Nothing, mum," said the one with the GPS. He was about fifty, with a bearded wind-burned face, what looked like brown or hazel eyes, thick fingers and a shaved head under his hat. The blue jumper was quilted and quite old, worn at both elbows, and there was a tatty spot at the hem. The rucksack was filled with something, I didn't know what.

The other one, younger, pulled an earpiece out and stared in amazement. "I thought you said no one was out here," he hissed to the other. This one wore an olive anorak which looked military issue. He was clean shaven, with blonde hair and pale blue eyes, and his skin had the pallor of a long time away from the sun.

"Nothing, eh?" I squinted at them in the wind. "Seems to me that you're doing something on my farm."

"No, we're… making a pipeline survey, mum. For the Council."

"Yes, that's it," said the younger. His tones were clipped and his stance was now ramrod straight.

"I see. You wouldn't happen to know how it's possible a metal pipe would get all the way out here," I pointed about the expanse of the grassy field. "The road's way off over there," I waved towards it. "But _you_ know that, don't you? It's where you parked your van."

The young one cleared his throat. "Mum, we were told to come out here. We went to the house, but didn't see anyone about."

I nodded. "Yes. I'm sure you quite certain to make sure there was no one about, didn't you?" I could play _this_ game. I grinned humorlessly at them, but kept my eyes cold, something I had plenty of practice at.

The other man tugged the sleeve of the younger. "You know what?" He smacked his forehead. "Didn't I tell you the map didn't match the lay of the land? That was _your_ job to get it right!" he blustered at him.

I nodded. "Yes, I'm sure it didn't. Look fellows, I really don't know or care, why you are out here, but I will tell you this…"

"Yes, mum?" said the younger. The way he stood there convinced me he was ex-military and freshly out of the service, or had been housed by Her Majesty in one of her lovely lockups.

I fixed them both with an icy stare I had picked up from a serial killer who had killed five people and disposed of them in very unsavory ways. "I have a shotgun in the house. What say I go get it and come back here? You would be amazed at my marksmanship, even with birdshot."

They started backing away slowly then faster and then turned and ran. I watched them until they disappeared towards the road and I could just make out the top of their vehicle, which quickly started up after the slamming of doors, made a U-turn and blasted away.

The grass in the area was trodden down and I could tell the pair had been making a systematic search. Their heavy boots had made quite the paths to and fro.

"Hm… Ruth, I wonder _what_ they _were_ up to? Well, better go clean that shotgun, just in case."

As I walked back towards the house I called for Buddy, but he didn't show up.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14 – Ariadne

Bert Large stared into the foggy and spotted mirror, but only saw his heavy and frightened face starting back at him. He held the sides of the sink with both hands and tried to remain calm, but his heart was pounding away and he couldn't seem to get his breath for a few seconds. He had seen something, must have been a shadow. But the figure was a man, in chain mail! And that voice. Protect? Protect the hoard? He finally realized that there was a pounding on the latched door.

"Bert? Bert! You ok in there?" It was Ian Hardcastle. "There's a couple more folks need to use the toilet. Hurry up, can you?"

Bert wiped his face with a damp paper towel then opened the door, trying to seem normal. "Come on then," he said to Ian and the snappish woman who stood in the corridor.

The lady looked him up and down. "You alright, Mr. Large? Your color doesn't seem good. Any problem?" she asked.

"No, I'm fine. Wonderful." Bert squeezed past the pair.

The woman gave him a critical stare. "You are breathing heavily as well. Feeling fine, you say? Then why are you sweating?"

She wore tweeds, something Bert could not abide, and she had quite put him off by her butting in about pirates and wreckers. Yet now as she looked at him, he felt a new feeling, one of pleasure almost. Bert laughed nervously. "I sweat alot. I'm a large person, can't you see?" He prodded his ample belly. "Try as I might, I can't shift it!" He smiled. "If you'll use the facilities, we can be off."

She took his wrist, held it just so, and looked at her watch. "Hm," she said after ten seconds. "Your pulse is racing. What _were_ you doing in there?"

"Oh? Are you a nurse?" Bert looked at her more closely. He guessed she might be fiftyish and tall, with straight limbs and an ample bosom and bum. Not skinny by any means. But her dark eyes seemed caring and her brown hair sticking from under a woven hat looked silky and smooth. Bert wished he could touch that hair, run his hand along it and caress it.

She smiled for the first time. "Yes, retired. Made redundant, actually. Ariadne Aster is my name." The woman tugged at his eyelid and tried to look into his eye.

"Leave off, woman!" said Bert and tried to push her away.

"Bert, calm down," butted in Ian. "You do look upset, mate. Maybe you should sit."

Bert tugged her hand away. "I'm fine." He looked at his watch. "Oh, look at the time. Let's be moving on." He strode into the lounge and speared his charges with his eyes. "Drink up and let's go." He cleared his throat. "If you want to hear more stories, that is."

Tommy Evans the B&B owner stuck his ginger head around the corner from the kitchen. "Anything wrong? You want me to call Doc Martin?"

Bert shook his head no and rushed outside. There he flapped his jumper to let sweat evaporate in the breeze. He still felt shaky after the… whatever it was. A reflection from his torch? No the torch was off. The overhead light maybe? No, he didn't think so. There was a figure… and that voice…

The nurse stalked out from the building and looked at him gently. "Mr. Large, _are_ you well? If you're not perhaps we should call your local GP."

"I'm fine," he said and cast a hangdog look at her. "Well, considering our doc and his lady sort of got back together just today, I don't think that he or Louisa would appreciate me or anybody else bothering them, if you know what I mean." He chuckled. "Those two love birds…"

"Well, for heaven's sake, if you are not well… You don't have dizziness or anything like that?" She glided to him and watched him closely. "Please let me take your pulse again."

"I am right as rain, mum." But he held out his arm to her.

"It's miss, Mr. Large." She took his wrist and timed his biology. "Better now, much better. I think you may need a physical, unless you had some sort of shock. It was just after that boy got frightened." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Was there something back there?"

"Well, Miss Aster, if I may call you that… no. Nothing there. Never was."

"Please call me Ari, Mr. Large."

He grinned. "I will, if you'll call me Bert."

"That I will. Please don't exert yourself too much."

He gave her his famous Bert Large smile which had melted many a heart. "Oh? Asking me to save something for later, my dear?"

Ari smiled back and primped her hair. "We'll see," she said and took his arm.

Bert looked her up and down, not that he hadn't already. "So, Ari, whatever is such a fine thing as you doing in Portwenn, especially at this time of the season?"

She shrugged and Bert enjoyed seeing her move, from up close that is. "Oh, I've been roaming about doing research on coastal villages. Taking an oral history for a book I'm writing."

"A book? Well I can't say I've ever been those close to an author." He squeezed her side as his arm just happened to be around her waist.

Ari put a hand on his and held it. "Well, it's not very glamorous. Just a collection of old stories, tales, and legends. At present I'm hunting down more accounts of a Rupert Saunders, who lived near Exeter late in life. Made a fortune in shoe polish then frittered it away before he died. He passed about 1880, but he roamed all about this part of Cornwall before then."

"Well, if he's been roaming around after that he'd be a ghost!" Bert slapped his leg. "Here you are paying _me_ to tell _you_ ghost stories…"

Ari put her hand to his mouth. "Yes. But the old fellow took quite an interest in Tintagel and the King Arthur legend and all around these parts."

Bert nodded. "Yes. Arthur, king of the Britons and all that. But did he ever _really_ exist?"

Ari laughed. "Someone did, but if it was _the_ Arthur, no one can say. But it seems that Rupert Saunders took such an interest in heraldry and the time of knights that he would often trek about the countryside dressed in chain mail and breastplate."

Bert stopped and felt a cold chill as he went all gooseflesh. "Chain mail…" he gulped. "And breastplate."

"Yes. And from what I have found he also wore jet black gloves with the costume. Apparently frightened any number of people over the years as he stalked about at night. He died mad in an asylum."

Bert gulped. "Black gloves. Right." He shook the feeling of unease away and waved to his charges as they left the B&B into the chill fog. "Ari, we'll talk later… Come on folks; over here. Now let's take a bit of a walk up this street, there's an interesting story about a house up here…"

The group formed up and walked behind Bert as he went on with his tale. The last person leaving the pub looked to left and right, then up and down. He tied his scarf tighter about his neck and cheeks, tugged his hat well down and followed the group.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15 – Mermaid

Morwenna Newcross looked wide-eyed at the Doc as he stood over her. "Done for the day? Now? It's only half four!"

"Yes," said Doc Martin said. "Go home."

"But… there are some patient records to update. Loads to do! I haven't finished those from the morning, yet." The truth was that she had finished those, but she'd been trying to sort the mess that Pauline Lamb had left behind. There were a number of issues with the patient database that she wanted to put straight.

Martin Ellingham looked down at her, but his demeanor was somehow less bossy than usual. He had been quite out of sorts with Louisa Glasson and their baby James Henry moving out two weeks back. Morwenna had seen the kerfuffle when she arrived most mornings, with Louisa rushing out of the surgery, sometimes smiling, most times not, sometimes with the baby. A few times she had parked the child on her desk and said that Susan, Tilly, or her mother Eleanor would be by in a few minutes to pick up the baby.

Morwenna could only roll her eyes at Louisa. She liked the woman; she really did, even though they hadn't always gotten on when Louisa was her _teacher_. Now, with Louisa as the Doc's partner it was a bit stroppy to see her old teacher in such a different light. Not that they weren't friendly like, but it felt strange. Morwenna was only nineteen and it wasn't that long before that she had hung out with her friends as one of the notorious girl-pack of Portwenn.

But about the time she turned sixteen that seemed far too childish. She wasn't to go on to school, or didn't care, so she started working. That is she had tried. She had been a child minder, baker's helper, shop girl, delivered advert flyers for a time, assisted at two different elderly care homes and the longest for Mr. Tyndal until her had to close the ship chandler due to illness. It was that upheaval that sent her to Mrs. Tishell and the pharmacy. For all of her eagerness to help Sally there, Mrs. T clearly was not one to brook any failure, not offer any help to her to learn the job.

She was at the ship chandlers last spring when Louisa came back from London. She recalled the day very well, as when she stepped outside the place three of her friends, all younger, had absolutely pounced with the delicious nasty news of Louisa being with child.

Her friends had laughed hysterically, at the _grownup_ that had gotten herself _pregnant_. Pregnant, a word that somehow seemed far worse than being knocked up, up the duff, up the stick or just preggers.

"Pregnant? Miss Glasson? You're joking? My God… that's…" Morwenna stammered.

"Delicious?" sneered Suzie. "Yeah. All high and mighty, bloody teacher!"

Jan snickered. "The way she used to try and talk about 'you know what' to us girls - about being responsible! Now look at her! Out to here!" She held her nail-bitten hands several inches in front of her belly button in the universal signal of pregnancy.

Mallory looked at the other three girls. "Think it's the Doc? Doc Martin?"

"Has to be, don't it?" chimed in Suzie.

Then they laughed, all but Morwenna, who added. "Don't be mean, for God's sake. Not her fault, likely."

"Oh? Well, Wenna, old chum, had you forgotten it takes two…" Jan laughed. "Oh my God! If it's the Doc's, unless you think it was somebody else?'

Morwenna waved her hands. "Stop! Just stop it! Mean birds, the lot of you! Shame. Could be any of us, you know?"

The girls laughed and scattered, leaving Morwenna to gaze at her own reflection in a shop window and wonder what poor Louisa had faced in London for her to come back here, to the scene of the crime. She must feel like hell, she thought; just like hell. It had to be the Doc's right?

Months later as she worked with Doctor Ellingham, and seeing Louisa and the Doc interact up close most mornings and sometimes afternoons as well, there was no doubt that she was right. James Henry was the product of Louisa's and Martin's, erh, coupling, last fall. They got engaged, they got pregnant, Louisa left, then she came back and James being born in June nailed the timing. Morwenna could count, so that mystery was solved, as far as _she_ was concerned.

She cleared files away that afternoon, as clearly the Doc wanted her to leave, but why? The Doc was at his desk, well not _his_ desk, as she supposed his own was in storage somewhere, soon to be shipped to the London flat she'd heard him mention.

Morwenna stood in the door to the consulting room, looking at Doc Martin with his head bent over the desk. There was something different about the man this afternoon. Something; very different.

"So, why are we closing up early today?" she asked him.

He had marched back into the surgery and swiftly dealt with the patients there. Alan Baldridge, Midge Cooper, and Deborah Davish had been very upset they all had to wait for his return. Yet with no explanation, as usual, the Doc had swooped back to the cottage, swiftly dealt with the appointments and then practically threw them one after the other out the door.

Martin Ellingham was hard to understand at times. Mercurial, brilliant, loud, rude, but there was a soft side to the man, and he hid that quite well. Morwenna had seen the tight-lipped look on the Doc the day after Louisa took the baby and moved out. His tone was icy and sentences were short and clipped, and though he strove to be businesslike the next morning, there was a look of age and fatigue; the sadness shone in his every action.

She had seen that sadness when her gran died and her mum took her grandfather in. Then mum went, the cancer, all those fags over the years, leaving the two of them. Morwenna had youth on her side and was better able to deal with sadness. But grandfather had the same look as the Doc, one of a slow motion about all he did, for months.

But today, the Doc's face was just the opposite. There was a sprightly look about him, if anything the Doc did could be called _sprightly_. Yet there it was; she could see it. His brow wasn't furrowed and his lips were not pressed tightly together. Must be good news.

"So, Doc. What's happened? Why were you so firm when you called? Asked about the couple? The patient? The couple staying at Pentire Castle?"

Doc Martin put down his pen and looked at her. "Ah. Yes. Well… seems that James Henry had been taken… away… I needed to find out where the couple was staying. It was… it seemed…" his voice broke a moment. "Uhm, the person… had James Henry there."

"At Pentire Castle? Really? Who was it? What happened? James is alright?"

Martin turned to Morwenna and for the absolutely first time she knew of, the man _smiled_ at her. "James is fine. We're fine… and Louisa Glasson is moving back in. Today."

Morwenna's eyes opened wide. "Oh, Doc that's brilliant! I'm so happy for you! Anything I can do, to help out? You need anything? Anything at all?"

Martin stood and faced her. "No. I think, uhm… why don't you go home, for the day?"

"Right. I am happy for you Doc and Louisa too."

He nodded and shooed her away with a hand. "Goodnight."

"Right. Goodnight Doc." The girl beamed at the man then went to the desk for her small handbag but Martin trailed after her.

"Another thing, Morwenna."

"Yeah, Doc?"

"Do you like working here, for me, in the surgery?"

"Well, I needed, and do need a job, you know. My Granddad just gets a bit and all, so this job, yeah I do like it; need it. When you let me help when you fixed up Louisa's mum that was keen! So exciting. So yeah, I like it."

Martin looked at the girl calmly. "Yes. Seems…" he cleared his throat, "there has been a change, in my status."

"Oh. So do you think the new GP might let me stay? He's coming soon, right?"

"Oh, perhaps," he said. "But if he wanted you to stay, would you, I mean… could you?"

"Yes. If they wanted me to."

Doc Martin looked away then back at her young face. "Stay. If you want to… that is… I want you to."

"What are you saying?"

"I saying, Morwenna, that I am the new GP. Or the old GP is staying, whichever. But do you want this job?"

"My God, Doc! Of course I want the job!"

"Good. Goodnight, then." He walked away leaving her standing there open mouthed in amazement.

As she walked home, just across the village, it had been a good day. She had even seen two dolphins breaching in the harbor that morning, a sign she always took as good luck. She liked dolphins, as they were part of the legend of mermaids; in fact by Cornish legend, mermaids were part dolphin and part woman.

And, she smiled as she walked, her name, _Morwenna_, meant mermaid in old Cornish. The sun glittered on the waves in the harbor as she walked home.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16 – The Vet

Darby Vellacot, the vet based in Pendoggett, peered up at Joe Penhale through dirty glasses perched dangerously on his wrinkled face. "Dogs, Joe?"

"That's what I said. _Missing_ dogs." Joe waved his hands about. "You know, dogs – gone missing?"

Doc Vellacot rubbed his aching knee. "No. Not really, haven't heard of any, that is." His leg was killing him today with the weather altering. He had seen a few mares' tail clouds last evening and while today was fine, the skies on the horizon were lowering, always heralding a change in the weather.

"So, you haven't gotten any calls about that?"

Darby sighed. "No, I haven't Joe. My answer phone is packed up, and I was away for part of last week. Plus my girl, she's my niece by marriage, you know, she's been having a tooth problem, and been running back and forth to Wadebridge to get work done. That girl, she's always got something amiss! If it's not her, it's her mum or dad, or her scooter's packed up, or she misses the bus! So the phone rings most times, I can't answer it when I'm seeing patients and she's not out there!" He pointed to the empty desk in the waiting room and shook his head sadly.

Joe rolled his eyes. He'd hoped for a quick Q and A with Darby, but it wasn't to be. "Dogs…"

"Then," Darby went on. "I get people strolling in here day and night, almost, usually dragging sick animals along. You know Tim Plunk brought in his son's iguana? An iguana for God's sake! Likely the only one in all of Cornwall. Poor creature. Far from warm breezes and jungle if you ask me!"

Joe sighed. "Alright, Darb. I wasn't asking about iguanas. Just dogs and maybe a couple of cats."

The vet shook his graying head. "I had to call a bloke in Bath about the poor thing."

Joe scratched his head in puzzlement. "The dogs?"

"No! The bloody iguana! Some sort of skin disease." The vet tapped on the table. "He wasn't happy when I suggested they get the lad a dog."

Joe decided to press on. "So you haven't heard of any missing dogs."

"No, not really. I treat them, not find 'em! So why are you playing at dog catcher then, Joe? Crime getting a bit low in Portwenn?" The man laughed. "Too peaceful? I reckon you need a good _murder_ or _kidnapping_ to really keep you busy?"

Joe shook his head _no_. Although he just come from helping the Doc and Louisa get their baby back from Mrs. Tishell, there was no way he'd tell Darby about it, although he would have _liked_ to. "Perish the thought! I'm just trying to keep the peace, you know. Dogs might be pets, but they are property, and if somebody is stealing property, I'm on it like paint!"

"Not always."

"Oh?"

"There's any number of dogs and cats roaming about. I bet if you tried to pick one of those loners up they'd bite or scratch you! Me and Debbie had a cat once, spent nights with us, but that cat was hither and yon all day and half the evening. Never knew where she went. But she did roam. Perhaps these pets you're wondering about just went away – went walkabout as the Aussies would say?"

"It's just curious is all. So many… all at once."

"How many?"

"About a dozen. Nine dogs and two cats. Even Joan Norton's little dog Buddy is missing. Ruth Ellingham said he's been gone a few days."

Darby scratched his nose and pushed his sliding glasses back onto his face. "Shame about Joan Norton. A nice lady. But her dog, I can't quite place him."

Joe laughed. Maybe this job _was_ turning him into a dog catcher. "He's a long-haired Jack Russell mix, mostly white. Dark ears."

Darby crossed arms and thought. "There was a bloke brought in a dog like that three days back. The little dog had a cut on his paw and was limping. A slice right in his left paw. Looked like he got onto some sharp metal. I cleaned it and gave him a bandage. Antibiotics too."

Joe pulled out his pad and wrote this down with a pencil. "You said a fellow?"

"Yeah, tall man, shaved head. Sort of stiff, real careful. Said yes sir and no sir a lot. Had pale skin. Never seen him before."

"Got a name?"

"No I don't. My girl was gone, you know – that bad tooth – and he paid in cash. I was starting to write down the dog's case when the phone rang and I scooped it up. Glad I did. It was that mad Mr. Porter begging me to look at one of his sows. Got into a bit of wire fence and got all sliced up. I can't stand Porter, you know him; used to be a vicar until he went Bodmin. After arguing with Porter for a couple minutes, I rang off, and the man and dog were gone. I did go look at Porter's pig, just so you know. Not _her_ fault her owner Porter hates _people_."

Joe pursed his lips. "What sort of car did he drive? The man with the white dog?"

"Not a car. One of those big half-lorries. Sort of a green color. Big fat tires on it. I bet you could drive up Ben Nevis in that one! You think the dog was Buddy?" Darby looked intently at Joe who had his brow furrowed and was chewing on his pencil.

"I think," Joe said, "it's a clue. Thanks." He left the stone building and sat in the Bedford and thought for a bit. He wiped his eyes at the memory of having to tell the Doc that his aunt had been found dead of a heart attack, behind the wheel of her truck, on the way to Wadebridge. That was the day Louisa's baby James Henry was born. Seemed mighty unfair that the poor woman never got to see her grand-nephew.

"I'll find your dog, Joan! Mark my words!" declared Joe. He started the Bedford and drove back towards Portwenn, keeping his eyes peeled for any loose dogs or cats wandering in the fields.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17 – Nice Things

"Better now?" I asked Louisa who had been shivering when she came back to bed.

She burrowed a bit deeper into my chest, which was both nice and distracting. "Yes, Martin. Thank you for that." She sighed. "I've waited…"

"Waited?"

"Well, yes. I told you today, I'd waited so long for you to say nice things. That's not the only thing…" and saying this she reached around and ran a slim hand down my back and repeated the motion.

"Oh."

"All this time, we've just been so…"

"Confused?"

She kissed my cheek. "And angry, bewildered _and_ upset. There were weeks we didn't even speak; months too. Now here we are."

I put a hand on her lips. "Don't. I don't want to dredge all that up again." I sighed. "But it will be difficult to… forget?"

She looked at me in the dim room. "Forget? I don't think we _can_ forget it. At least I know I can't."

"So what do you propose?" I said and kissed her shoulder.

She arched her back at the kiss and hugged me tightly. "Don't let go. Just _don__'__t_ let me go, Martin."

"Not ever?"

"Yes! Not ever!"

"Alright." We had reached the point I was thinking of earlier; the point of decisions; things that needed to be said. I reluctantly pried Louisa's exquisite body off me and climbed from the bed. "There's something I need to do." I padded quickly in bare feet to my chest of drawers, wincing at the cold floor. I open the top drawer and rummaged about finally finding what I needed. I palmed the object and slid back under the covers.

"What you got there?" she asked.

I clasped both hands together with the thing covered. "I was thinking… that you should have this… if you want it."

She looked at me quizzically with an eyebrow arched. "Oh. If I want it? Well what is it? Don't tease me."

"I _never_ tease."

"No, I don't suppose you _could_ or would. So what is it?"

My eyes snapped shut. I'd made a total mess of things before. This was it - _one_ last _chance_. "Louisa," I started to say and my voice croaked. "We tried before to do the conventional thing, but that didn't work. But if we're to stay together…" I took a mighty breath. "I do love you. Always have. I knew there was something about you, from the first. I knew it in the ambulance when Peter Cronk was bleeding out and you cried out 'Martin!' I suppose that's when I felt you were turning to me for help – your one hope at that moment. And you followed my every instruction, faithfully, without question or pause. I knew it right then, even before I bollixed up our kiss in the taxi the next morning that you were _special_. I don't like people much and they don't like me much. Most would sooner run away screaming before they gave me a kind word or look. But you… never stayed away, not always. Every time I was mean or rude, there was some force that kept throwing us back together."

"What do you mean, Martin? What _are_ you saying?"

I breathed deeply and prayed one of the few prayers I was most sincere about. "Louisa," I opened my hand, revealing the diamond ring which my grandmother wore. "I think it's entirely appropriate that I ask this. Would you marry me?"

Louisa's head drooped a bit and heard her take a huge intake of breath, followed by a tiny sniffle.

I went on to fill her silence. "Erh, that is… you don't _have_ to, if you _don__'__t_ want to…" My lips were quivering, cold sweat broke out on me and my stomach roiled, not that different from a panic attack of haemophobia.

Her face swung up to mine and her eyes were moist yet shining bright. "Oh, Martin. I've had your baby, been mooning over you from afar ten times as much as our mad village chemist. We've both worked so hard at being angry with each other…"

My heart fell. I was doing this all wrong, once again! Stupid, stupid doctor. I wasn't worthy of a family. I should give it all up as a bad affair. God I wish I could talk to Aunt Joan about this! Another bitter disappointment that. I sighed and started to roll away from Louisa, who now lay next to me with tears running down her face.

"No, Martin! Don't go! Don't shut me out! Don't shut _us_ out! Give me some time. Just a little time, alright?"

"You're not saying no, are you?"

"No! I'm not saying _no_, Martin! I just need a little time is all." She grabbed my hand and rubbed the ring it held. "No rush is there?"

I could breathe again. "You're _not_ saying no."

"No, I'm not! James has a father, Martin. You! And you are my _lover_!" She punctuated that with a kiss. "Now I have to get used to the idea of you as a husband as well. Get it?"

"Right," I sighed.

"I'm _not_ saying _no_. Just not _yet_ can I say _yes_. Understand?"

I hugged her tightly one armed, my one hand still clutching the ring. "Yes, I do understand."

She pried the ring from my hand and inspected it from all angles. "What say we put this on the bedside table," she stretched across me and set the ring on the table, "and let it rest awhile?" We wound up eye to eye, as she was draped over my chest.

"You're crying." I wiped a tear away from her chin.

"Yes, I am." We kissed. "But not in sadness, Martin. Not in sadness."

We didn't say anything else for quite a while, but we didn't need to.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18 – Freezing

Al Large made his way up Roscarrock Hill to the headland. The fog was thick but he easily made his way from the restaurant and up past the Doc's cottage to the field at the top of the cliff. He looked at the cottage where the Doc had his surgery. "Have to think differently about the cottage now. Doc's and Louisa's place, more like."

Al carried a musty and lumpy duffle bag over his arm as the strap had been broken ages ago. He looked at the frayed strap ends. "Another thing Dad never quite got around to fixing," he sighed. The duffle and its contents weren't heavy, merely awkward to carry. He started to whistle, but the thick fog made spooky echoes, so he stopped after a few seconds. He hunched his shoulders as the cooling mist worked his way inside his coat collar.

In a few minutes he passed the gate at the end of the lane and made his way along the path that ran along the cliff. The sea below was pounding the shore the sound bouncing oddly to his ears from the fog's effects. He peered hesitantly over the edge to the dark water below. "Lord that would be a bad spot to take a misstep. Take a good run, go for it, and you're gone!" he mused. There were stories of bereaved fishermen's widows plunging to their deaths from this spot. He gulped at the thought. "Have to be mighty distressed to do that." He shook his head and passed the critical spot, feeling a cold run finger down his neck. "Place makes me all shivers being up here at night."

Al came to the bench near the top, where he should be able to make out the whole of Portwenn on a clear day, but the fog filled the harbor leaving a soft glow from house lights. He checked his watch. He was early, so he sat and played with his mobile, trying to get a signal to call Pauline. He knew that signals up here could be chancy, and he'd read on the Internet that water vapor in the air could play hell with reception. He stared at the tiny phone screen willing it to light up a lone signal strength bar, but the electronics would not surrender to his will.

"Later, Al. Call her later."

He'd not had a chance to let Paul know that the Doc and Louisa were back together. Those two were so back and forth they might have been some sort of old-time kid's mechanical toy – one of those with gears, wheels, and arms that flung figures back and forth.

He smiled wickedly. "Doc, I do hope you're getting a bit of action and Louisa too! Seems to me that you've each earned it." He chuckled softly but stopped when he heard the noise of a motor, somewhere behind him. "What's that?" he craned his head around and heard the engine cutout and a car door or two slammed.

"Weird. Not often anyone's up here at night." He smiled. "Of course, Al, you should be home in bed as well!" He picked up his duffle, moved into the thick bushes past the bench and began to make ready.

"Come on Dad," he mumbled rubbing his hands together. "I'm freezing my arse off out here. Hurry up!"

000

Bert Large tried to herd his changes along by alternately chatting away, then turning to see if they were following. Alan the teenager, had come to the front of the pack, and was now hanging about by Bert and Ariadne Aster

"Boy?" whispered Bert. "You feel ok now?"

The kid sighed. "I suppose."

Bert laughed and tousled the kid's hair. "So how'd you like that last story – The Gray Lady? That poor woman, waited all those years for her man to come home from sea and he never did. Course her man was a pirate. Now all these years later she roams the cottage she used to live in, waiting for him to return!"

The boy grunted. "Typical sort of ghost story, weren't it?" the kid kicked a pebble on the lane. "The guy probably put in to Penzance and found some new woman."

Ariadne laughed and gently punched the boy's arm. "You're awfully cynical."

Alan shrugged and changed the subject. "So… Bert, what about that B&B?"

Bert gulped. "What about it?"

"Did you see anything in there?"

"Like what?" Bert muttered. "Was I _supposed_ to see something?"

Alan shook his head. "No… just wondering if you did."

"No!" said Bert forcefully. "Not a thing!"

Alan took Bert's arm and pulled his head down to his mouth. "Not a… a… well…"

"Come on son! Spit it out! I won't bite you!" Bert laughed. "You're a lot like my Al, you know that? Sort of quiet on the outside, but there's an awful lot going on inside that head of his."

"Ok. Well…" stammered the boy.

"Oh, go on, Alan," chimed in Ari. "You did see something."

The boy glanced quickly at the small crowd behind them. "I saw… someone. He was old; real old."

Bert slapped him on the back. "You saw me, Alan! I'm old!" he chuckled, then rolled his eyes in Ariadne's direction. "Course, I'm not as old as I might look, at times."

"No," the boy said with certainty. "Not you. It was someone else… and he said something."

Bert gave Ari a knowing look. "Sure, if _you_ say so," then winked at her. She squeezed his hand in return.

"No, Bert!" said Alan. "This man was old; really old. He had dark eyes and wore armor or something like that."

Bert gulped loudly. "Armor?" A trickle down his face started the flood, and in spite of the freezing mist, Bert felt his vest and boxers grow clammy with more sweat. "Armor, you said?"

Alan nodded up and down. "Yeah, metal armor. Medieval stuff. And he said to 'protect the hoard.' Whatever that is."

Bert laughed nervously. "You're joking." His mouth went dry and his eyes snapped wide open.

"What's that?" asked Ari.

"Protect the hoard," repeated Alan. "What's a hoard, anyway?" Genghis Kahn - that it?"

"No!" whispered Ari. "A hoard; h – o – a – r – d. A place where someone has buried valuables and the like. You know. There was a huge pile of stuff found in a Staffordshire field a couple years back. Mostly decorated sword pommels – stuff like that – made of gold. That lot they think came from about the seventh century."

Bert's head whipped about to stare at Ari. "Gold?" he asked excitedly.

"Yes, a lot of it. Farmers find this stuff all the time in England." She chuckled. "For all we know we might be standing on a pile of gold, silver, or jewels this very minute!"

"Right…" said Bert. "So… you're saying that there's stuff like that all over."

"Not all over!" Ari answered. "Just around. Romans, Picts, Vikings, pirates - lots of people have left stuff buried. But, Alan, about this man you saw - who you say spoke to you."

"Yes," said the boy.

"Where'd you see him?"

Alan turned to look at Ari with Bert who was sweating bullets next to her. "In the loo. Well in the mirror actually."

Bert's jaw dropped and he felt a low moan begin at the back of his throat. "In the mirror…"


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19 – Mags

Joe Penhale drove back to Portwenn from Darby's cluttered and smelly vet office, wondering if he was really cut out for this job. Nothing much ever happened in Portwenn, ignoring a kidnapping, a Ranger with an imaginary squirrel friend, a school custodian on a roof, weird neighbors, and lovelorn and love lost villagers, plus any number of strange and mysterious illnesses which Doc Martin had to deal with. Joe sighed. He wanted Maggie and a better job and a cleaner house as well as more money. He didn't want to be chasing dogs hither and yon. He wanted to be a real policeman doing actual police work.

He reached down and touched the handcuffs on his belt. "Sorry, old things," he said. "I thought I'd get to use you today. And I would have too, but for Doctor Ellingham – that is Ruth." He shook his head. "Barmy bloke that you are Joe, if you keep wishing misfortune on your neighbors – your friends – you're not very smart then are you?"

Rocks sticking up from the plain next to the road could be hiding any number of criminals waiting to prey on passing motorists. "Joe, them days is gone! The pirates are gone, there are no highwaymen, and there ain't no justice at times either."

He pulled his mobile out, stared at it for a few seconds, and then keyed it. It rang a few times and then it was picked up.

"Perfect Image Salon! Maggie speaking!"

Joe's throat filled with sand as he heard Maggie's voice and he gasped.

"Hello? Hello? Listen you perv! If you every call this number again…"

"Mags?" Joe croaked. "It's Joe. Joe Penhale."

"Joe! Hi! What are you up to? Why you calling?"

That was a very good question Joe realized. He racked his brain for a reasonable, yet not personal explanation. "I… uhm…"

"Come on Joe. Why _are_ you calling? I don't have all day. Got a wash and blow out to do. What's up?"

Maggie worked in a salon in Bude not that far up the coast. In fact if Joe left right now he knew, he could be there right soon, especially if he turned on the Bedford's siren and put the pedal down. He shook his head at the thought. Mags wouldn't like that he knew, although she had kissed him quite warmly when she left for home a couple weeks back. But with her memory the way it was… "Well, I was wondering… how you are, is all," he managed to spit out.

"I'm fine, Joe. How are you?"

He gulped. Hadn't Ruth told him to try and be more friendly and not so… what was the word she used? Oh yeah, so big-headed. Be more down to earth she had added and less flakey.

Spit pooled in his mouth and he swallowed with an effort. "I'm fine. How are you?"

She laughed. "I just told you, Joe. I'm fine."

Joe tried to think of something else to say, but the silence stretched on.

"Cat got your tongue, Joe?"

He nodded but realized she'd not hear that. "Yes. Yes, that's it."

Maggie laughed again. "Oh, Joe," she said sadly. "My memory is getting better, if you were wondering about that."

Damn! Joe sighed. He didn't want her to remember too much. "Well, that is good – I mean good for you – I mean - glad you're healthy."

"Getting there Joe." Her voice dropped a little. "Joe… I want you to tell you..."

"Tell me what?" Joe dreaded what she'd most likely say. Something like never call me again. Story of your life, Joe. Never quite…

"Joe," Maggie interrupted his thought. "I uh… want you to know that…"

"Sorry I bothered you, Mags. Best get back to work. Been on a real hot case and…" He couldn't get any air and he felt hot and nauseous. He felt an attack of agoraphobia coming on, so he pressed the accelerator further to speed up. He had to get back to the village – get to his cottage – get into bed, deep under the covers.

"Joe! Listen! Me and my fella, well, we're cooling it for a while. Seems he didn't exactly understand why I sort of freaked out. Not quite what the shrink called it, but that's how I think of it. That's why I went looking for you."

Joe started to breathe again. "Oh. Cooling it? What's that mean? Are you saying…"

She chuckled a little. "You'll work it out Joe. Best be going. Ta." Then the signal went dead.

Her words bounced through his head and in his euphoria totally ignored the olive-drab cargo lorry driving the other way.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20 – Together

"Louisa," Martin whispered into my ear as we spooned together again.

"Yes, Martin?" I answered a bit groggily as I had started to drift to sleep once more.

He cleared his throat in a way that I knew meant he was going to ask something uncomfortable. Whether it was would be uncomfortable for _me_, or for _him_, was yet unknown.

"When… you were… in London," he muttered.

"Yes?" I felt my heart speed up as I feared what he might ask.

"Uhm… I don't want you to get upset or anything… but when you were in London… and back here in Portwenn…"

I sighed as I knew this would be a whopper. I waited but there was no sound from him. He shifted in the bed and my head turned of its own accord to look at him.

"Martin, just ask. Whatever it is."

"How did you decide to come back to Portwenn?"

"You do remember that I lost my job at the school. They didn't like me being _single_ and _pregnant_."

"So they discharged you."

I sighed and turned to face him fully. "No. I _quit_. It was better than a protracted fight."

"But they couldn't just fire you for being pregnant! My word! You should get a solicitor and file suit! They broke the law!" It was dim in the room but I could tell his face was scrunched up in anger along with a loud whisper. "I should call them…"

"Shush Martin! Don't wake James. Don't you think I wanted to do that? Do you think I really wanted to come back to the village?"

"What?" His face frowned. "Yes, I can see… that you might not want to…" he gulped. "To… see me. Be around me."

How to answer that? "Right." He scrunched a bit away from me as that came out.

I put a hand on his neck and rubbed it. "But I'm here now, aren't I?"

"Yes… yes you are!" his voice broke and he began to weep quietly. Big fat tears plopped onto my neck and chest.

"Oh, Martin," I said quietly. "Shhh… It's alright." It broke my heart to be holding the 6 foot - 3 inch tall Doctor Martin Ellingham in my arms while he wept like a baby.

That started me crying as well and I can't say how long we were both like that. I got us both tissues and we honked and each laughed at the noise.

"Louisa, I can't say how nice it is…" he cleared his throat. "To be able to talk."

I stopped his mouth with my fingers. "Shhh. Shhh Martin. Just hold me."

He hugged me tightly. "Ok."

"Martin, a bit too tight." James had a good feed, but my breasts were sore and all the, ahem, extracurricular activities, no matter how nice it felt, made them even more sore.

His hug slackened. "Sorry, sorry."

I kissed his cheek. "It is ok, you know. Just don't squeeze so."

"Yes."

Martin and I needed lessons, I thought. How to hold, to kiss, how to talk… He must have been reading my mind for what he said next.

"Yes. Uhm, when you were pregnant…"

"Yes."

"I… wanted…"

"Yes, Martin?"

"To… help you. You know that don't you?"

I sighed. "Well, we weren't exactly on speaking terms, were we?" I rubbed his back.

"No, we weren't. And London was?"

London, for all the buildup that Holly gave it and how much we would hang out, was far less than that. She was quite cross when I found a bed-sit some distance from her flat, and my new job kept me very busy as the teacher I'd replaced (he quit as well) had left a terrible mess with his classes. Then I found out I was pregnant, and that just seemed to drive a wedge straight between us. She had been going on a tear from man to man, searching for the one (her clock was ticking too) but then she got hurt. That certainly slowed down her romantic activities. Then I show up, country bumpkin that I was and then started puking my guts up every morning, mostly, and no alcohol besides. And I was lonely – for Portwenn and her people. No fun at all as my baps and belly grew.

"It was very, _very_ hard, Martin." I said with as much truth as I could muster; and it _was_ the truth.

He kissed my forehead. "You _should_ have told me."

"I wanted to."

"Why in God's name didn't you? Let me know? Tell me that… _we_ were pregnant. I'd have wanted to… know. So I could… help. If you needed it – wanted it."

"Well, why didn't _you_ call me? You have a mobile and my number!" Here we go; once more. Another of the infamous Martin and Louisa squabbles. "I was gone for five months, Martin!"

He sighed. "I thought I'd hurt you enough. You made a decision, headstrong woman that you are, when you left for London. I could only respect that it was _your_ choice. We weren't engaged anymore, if you recall. You gave me back the ring."

That left me speechless. But I mulled over his words, there in the dark. Then it sunk in. "You _really_ said that? You did really say that!" I said, astonished at his candor.

"Yes, I did."

"You'd have helped."

"Of course! Why don't you believe me?"

A few minutes went by as the feeling settled more fully. He said that he wanted to help me. Support me. "My choice, you said."

"Yes, Louisa. Your choice." He pulled me closer as he spoke and this time I didn't mind being hugged quite so tightly. "To go or stay. You went. I stayed in Portwenn."

That was the heart of the matter. I went and came back. I came _back_. "Well I'm here now."

He ran a hand down my side and across my bum. "I know."

There was another thing to say. "Martin, when I found out I was pregnant, erh, _we_ were pregnant, I thought that if I couldn't have you, at least we could have a baby, together. And I knew I'd keep it."

"Oh? Of _course_ you _would_. I'd expect nothing less, Louisa Glasson." He kissed me deeply.

"Oh. And Martin? All those months…"

"Yes?"

"When I was away, in London, all that time, I could put my hand on my bump, feeling it grow and move."

"Perfectly normal, you know…"

I put my hand on his lips to stop the medical lecture. "And when the baby moved, it made me glad. In spite of how lonely I felt all that time. When it moved; that your baby was _with_ me. That you and I were _together_."

"You mean that?"

Was the man daft? No, he was just insecure - as insecure as I had been and have been. "Yes, Martin, I do."

His arms tightened and his hands stopped their roving. "Good. That's very good, Louisa."

"Yes. I think so too."


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21 – Just a Dog

The space was small, dark, and smelly. What little light seeped in through small vents high on the wall of the shed showed a row of wire mesh cages, each holding an animal. One was a small mostly white Jack Russell terrier mix with dark eyes, with tail held erect. His former owner named him Buddy, after she rescued him from a tip heap somewhere near the moor.

The little dog remembered _that_ woman well. She was heavy, was often ruddy faced, had white hair and was kindly to strangers - people and animals alike. Her hands were rough and thick fingered, but when she petted Buddy, a warm glow ran through his body. He had dim memories of his mother and a pile of other puppies, all jostled together in a motor garage. There had been a woman there as well, one who was young, but tall and thin with brilliant shining gold hair. She cared for all the dogs, feeding and cleaning up after them. Buddy didn't know that lady's name either, but every time the chicken lady held him, petted him, or stroked his wiry fur, a wonderful feeling of love and contentment filled him, much as it had felt in a box long ago with his brothers and sisters at his mother's teats.

The heavy white-haired woman kept chickens and raised vegetables for sale in the small village nearby. Buddy enjoyed riding to the village in her old truck, often with a load of veg in the back, with brilliant sunshine streaming into the cab and fresh air blowing through an open window. He'd ride with his head held proudly at the window, imaging it was birds felt like as they flew about. Or he'd rest his head on the lady's lap and she'd rub his ears as he made contented grunts.

Buddy supposed the woman had a name – not one that he'd ever be able to pronounce as he didn't speak Human. Strangely, no humans seemed to speak Dog either, which he wondered about. In spite of this vast verbal communication divide, people and dogs did get on. He knew that some dogs herded sheep or cows, others guarded homes or shops, and some were trapped inside cottages to gaze longingly outside. Buddy was given free run of the farm, house and the village. He'd have liked to chase a few chickens for fun, but sensed that the woman would not have been very happy with him.

Although her farm was tending towards the run-down end of the farming spectrum it was a very nice place to explore, with the sea and all its lovely smells and sights blowing in off the cliffs. Trips to the small village of white cottages were a special treat as Buddy hoped he'd see his friend there.

His friend was a very tall man with short hair who always seemed to wear dark clothing with something tied around his neck. Perhaps it was the human equivalent of a collar. Buddy didn't wear a collar, and that was fine with him. The man had a natural attraction for Buddy, perhaps because he never used any sort of unnatural scent, just simple soap, and that attracted Buddy the most. He often thought that if he and the man could just have a good old petting round they might actually make a little headway in their relationship. But the man usually yelled and stamped a foot, making Buddy scamper away. But, Buddy imagined, it was part of how that man dealt with the people in his pack, as he often made loud noises at the villagers as well.

The man – his friend – had a very intelligent look about him, for a person, almost like that tall dark-haired woman who was somehow involved with the man. The woman had a puppy, that is a _baby_, not long ago, and shortly after the farmer lady never came home. The woman who had whelped was friendly and nice, and she smelled deliciously of human milk, which brought the little dog happy memories of his own mother. He was able to get into the brick cottage and sniff about the baby, just to inspect it – to see if it was what he expected. Yes he was right. The puppy, erh baby, was from the mating of the man and the milky lady, as he thought. Those two totally misunderstood his intentions as he bent down to lick the baby's face, merely confirming what his nose already told him.

Around the time of the whelping, the chicken lady had left and not returned. Buddy missed her as she was the nicest by far of any person he had ever known. That woman was replaced by another who was taller, much thinner, with grey hair and a lined face. She smiled a lot less than the farmer lady, but took over living at the farm and tried to keep things going. Buddy seemed to be tolerated, but just, by the tall lady, so Buddy decided to go to the village and find his friend – the tall man. He'd even been able to get into his mechanical thing that carried the man to and fro once or twice, but as part of the game, he was tossed out more than once.

Buddy whined once more. It was all part of the man's pack game, he supposed, but it _was_ tiring. If they could only talk – communicate in a meaningful manner? Dogs, of course, had their own way of greeting each other, and a quick sniff at the hindquarters spoke so much more than the babbling of people. He had learned early on that humans didn't like being sniffed in such a way. Instead they preferred to stand or sit while their mouths moved uttering various sounds, and waving their arms around, which must be how they spoke. Buddy had made a study of those sounds, as least as much as a small Cornish dog could. He had deciphered some sounds that would make him go running _to_ or _from_ the person speaking – sounds expressing joy or anger, food, or danger.

People also had a funny way of speaking without making sounds. Much as dogs used their bodies and tails to express ideas to other dogs, people used their _faces_. They had the most delightful way of scrunching their faces into all sorts of looks – ranging from angry or sad to joyful. When the farm lady put Buddy on her expansive lap, rubbed his head, and made that certain face – wide open eyes, none of her blunt teeth showing, and wrinkles about the eyes, cheeks, and forehead – along with saying his name, Buddy, he knew that she was happy. That made him happy as well.

Buddy wasn't his name, it was just what the lady called him, and he permitted her to. Earlier names in his life had been Cute Puppy, Damn Dog, Jaime, Get Out, and Bloody Mutt, the last when he had strayed and was living rough on the streets of a town far away. Those were _people_ names; that is names that people used around him.

Buddy, the name he allowed people to use, seemed to make people smile, especially as he wagged his tail and bounded about, his doggy smile open, eyes wide and ears erect. Then he might get a pet on the head, a rough rub down, and even the occasional doggy treat or bit of fish. There were still fishermen in the village and the boats often had scraps of fish about for a little dog to grab and swallow.

But as for names – the little dog knew his name – his _real_ name. In human it might sound like Buddy, but inside his head his dog name meant _Watcher_. His mother had given him that name when he was a few weeks old, as he pushed himself out of the puppy box and stood on his hind legs with front braced against the box, standing motionless for long minutes, his dark eyes bright with intelligence as he beheld the larger world of the garage where they lived.

Watcher scratched futilely at the mesh of the small cage he was in. Some dogs in the cages did as he did, but the big dog in the corner seemed to have given up, and lay there his head sadly propped on his paws. Watcher pawed the latch piece of the door, having seen the men open it to let him out once in a while or to feed the dogs and two cats held here. He knew that if he could just push that piece _up_ and then _slide_ that other thing, the door would spring open. He'd tried to tell the other dogs - he ignored the cats - what he was about but they generally ignored his advice.

He sighed as he pushed at the metal door. If the farmer lady was here, with those wonderful fingers and hands of hers, she could open that door in two swift movements. It wasn't at all fair, he thought, that only people had those marvelous hands. They could carry and move things, doing so many fantastic things that dog-kind could only attempt to copy with their mouths. On the other hand, people were clearly handicapped in a number of ways. They could not run as fast as a dog, they lacked sharp teeth, and their hearing and sense of smell were likely deadened, as they often ignored things he heard or smelled. Perhaps they had made some deal long ago to have hands instead of the fantastically accomplished noses of dogs? He sniffed the air picking up the feces in the room, the odd smell of cat urine, and a mouse or two under that bale of straw. He also smelled rotten and damp wood, a pile of fresh earth by the door, and the damp smell of fog on the way.

But the philosophy of comparative biology was far beyond Watcher's abilities or even interests. What he wanted most was to get out of this bloody cage! He turned around and drank some stale water in the nearly empty dish in the cage. Farmer lady where are you? I need you!

Suddenly the door at the end of the shed cracked open and Stiffman came in. He was the younger of two men who were keeping them locked up. The man carried a paper bag of dog food and dribbled some into the bowls inside each cage. Watcher waited nervously until the man finished filling his food dish, as the man had once hit him when he lunged at the food after not having been fed for two days.

"Wot you looking at little doggy?" asked the man.

Buddy did not answer. He merely thought dark thoughts and curled his lip at the man showing some teeth in a half snarl. Now if the man would just open that door, it was a short leap plus two or three bounds and he'd be out the door! But on the way it might be nice to take a bite or two!

"Mick, are you talking to them bloody dogs again?" asked the other man who was slouched in the doorway. "Must you insist on catching these beasts?"

Buddy looked long and hard at the two men, the ones he called _Stiffman_ for the way he moved and _Fatty_ for the other.

"Look, Derrick!" Stiffman said, "You said yourself these dogs and cats running about would be a good source of extra cash, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I did."

"Well, when we're done with this job out here, we'll move 'em on, right?"

"Right."

"Nice bit of cash in here," added the young man, waving at the cages.

"I'd have thought given the times you been behind bars, you'd not want to cage 'em up?"

The young one laughed. "They're just dogs and cats, Derrick."

"Yeah, right."

The men left the room and closed the door, so Buddy, or Watcher as he preferred, went back to work on the cage door, pushing and shoving.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22 – Break in the Case

Bert felt his heart skip a beat or two, or at least it felt like that. He faltered a little, and Ariadne Aster clutched his arm.

"Bert! Bert? Are you ok?" she shouted into his now pale white face.

"Yeah. I'm…" Bert gulped loudly. "Alright, I think. Whoa." He felt his chest where his heart was leaping away. "You had me going for a minute, boy!" He tousled the hair of Alan. "In the mirror…"

"No, Bert! It _was_ in the mirror, HE was in the mirror, just like I said! The _knight_ or whoever he was!"

"Alan, are you telling stories again?" asked his mother who'd pushed to the front of the crowd, who were now mostly gathered around the white-faced and shaky Bert.

"No, mum! _Not_ a story! I did see a man - a knight - in the loo mirror back there!" The boy pointed downhill to the B&B they'd left a while back.

The boy's father strode forward with an angry look. "Alan! Are you telling fibs?"

"No, dad, honest! Why would I lie?" the boy looked at the people around him. "Uhm… I'd have no reason to lie, now would I? I _didn__'__t_ make it up! Honest!"

"Now, now," said Bert. "No need to take this lad to task!" He put an arm around the boy's shoulders and whispered into his ear. "Ok, boy. I seen someone too." He winked slightly and the boy relaxed.

Bert let the child go and held up his hands. "Come on folks! Let's stop this larking about and get on with our outing!" He laughed. "Can't be out here all night, now can we? Getting right cold and damp. Come on, then." He turned and waved the people forward like a sergeant marshaling his squad. "Follow me. We're going up this hill, past my restaurant, where I might say, I could offer you hot coffee, tea, and savories after our little jaunt this evening!" Bert tried to sound light-hearted but inside he felt a chill. He wasn't certain that hot coffee was what he would be wanting after this night!

He heard a murmur of agreement from his charges, but as the group moved along, a tall man, who had tended to be always on the outskirts of the group who also tagged behind at all times, caught up and breezed towards the front of the group. Bert looked over sharply at the man, all wrapped up as he was in a long scarf with a wide brimmed hat on his head.

"Bert!" the man hissed.

"What's that?" Bert answered. "What you want?"

"Bert! Are you ok? You didn't look very well there for a minute!" Another whisper came out.

Bert swung his eyes to get a better look at the man. His eyes bugged out when he recognized the dark eyes of PC Joe Penhale staring at him from between the scarf and hat. "Joe? What in the world?"

"Shh…" said the constable. "I'm in _disguise_. Don't let on. But are you ok?"

"Of course I'm ok, Joe! What are you doin…" Bert was cut off by Joe holding a finger up to his lips.

Joe looked about swiftly. "Shh, Bert. I'll explain later." The he drifted away to the rear of the group.

Ari tugged on Bert's arm. "Who was that?"

Bert sighed and rolled his eyes. "That," he said very quietly, "was Portwenn's police constable! A bit bonkers at times. But don't worry about him! Maybe he just wants to hear a good ghost story. Right?"

Ari laughed and shook her hair. "You are a funny man, Bert Large."

Bert's feelings were stepped on. "Funny? Well, I'm not trying to be."

Ari patted his arm. "You're doing fine."

Joe took up station again as rearguard, keeping his eyes roving to and fro.

"Everything alright up there?" asked an older gentleman walking beside him.

"Yes. Yes. All's normal," he responded.

"Normal? Late at night on a Friday, in the fog, listening to ghost stories?" The man chuckled. "Good one."

"Like I said. _Normal_. Just go about your business."

The old man gave him a dirty look and stepped forward to put distance between him and Joe.

Joe sniffed as he was a bit peeved. He wanted to say he 'was just doing his job,' but that would ruin his disguise, which had worked so far. When he'd seen Bert stagger a bit, he got genuinely concerned for the fat man. He and Bert didn't always see eye-to-eye, but Mr. Large was one of _his_ charges so he felt responsible for him.

000

Joe was driving back to Portwenn that afternoon from visiting Darby the vet when his mobile rang. "Three zero two one," he answered ready for action.

"Joe? This is Ruth Ellingham."

"Doctor Ellingham, how can I help you? What is your problem?"

She cleared her throat thinking that this report might send Joe into a tizzy. "No _immediate_ danger, Joe. I just want you to know that I encountered two odd men, one tall and the other rather heavy, prowling about in my fields today, after our meeting."

"Yes? Did they _threaten_ you in any way? Were they _robbers_? Were they trying to steal your car? Were they armed? Were they hoodies?"

"Oh, Joe," Ruth sighed.

Joe could hear her muttering something.

"I'd not call a rucksack and metal detector weapons, Joe! Relax!" Ruth sighed once more.

"What's that? Are… you… in… danger?" he added slowly and clearly. "Can – you – hear – me?"

"Calm down, Joe. For goodness sake! No, I am alright! But I want to tell you these two had a metal detector, or something like it, traversing back and forth in my field. When I approached them, they claimed they were plotting out a water line, as unlikely as that may seem."

"Did they show you I.D?"

"No, they ran off after I suggested that I was a dab hand with a shotgun and was going to my house to get it. What do you think those two were up to?"

Joe tightened his grip on the wheel but then pulled to the side of the roadway. He took out a pad and pencil. "Give me all you can, please."

Ruth repeated what she had already said, adding distinct descriptions of the men. "Oh, and they were driving a green sort of lorry, not very large. Sort of a cargo type, if you know what I mean."

"Yes, yes." Joe wrote this all down and then flipped back a page to read what Darby Vellacot had told him about the man with the dog with his injured paw. "I'm on the case, Doctor Ellingham."

He heard another sigh from the psychiatrist. "Didn't I ask you to call me Ruth?"

"Yes, you did, didn't you? But this is _official_ business!"

"Ok, Joe, I mean Constable! You win."

"Right."

She rung off and Joe sat there smiling as he read his notes. At last there was a real break in the case! He'd not traveled more than another mile, when his phone rang again.

"Three zero two one!" he shouted happily into the phone.

"Joe? It's Morwenna Newcross!"

"Miss Newcross! Now why are you calling me on my mobile? Why won't anyone use the Dispatch number! I am a policeman! Your village constable!"

Morwenna laughed out loud. "Oh, come on Joe. Take it easy, would you?"

"Alright! What is wrong, Miss?"

"Nothing, exactly. Not with me, you know. But I think it's smashing that the Doc and Louisa are back together again, don't you think so too?"

Her cheery young voice came over the frequency smartly, and Joe smiled to hear her. She reminded him of a much younger Maggie. Maggie… dear Mags. Joe shook his head to stop the woolgathering. Right! "Yes… yes, I do. Now, why have you called?"

"Well, Granddad was going down the way to the Market and he tells me he saw a green truck pass by and he heard barking coming from inside it. What's that Granddad? Just a minute, Joe!" Morwenna must have covered the phone, as Joe could only hear muffled noises. "Ok! I'm back!"

"Yes? Come on! Out with it!"

"Well, Grand says there were two men in the truck, he thinks. One was sort of burly. The other tall."

"And where was this vehicle coming from?"

More muffled noises seeped through, but the spritely voice of Morwenna returned. "He says it came into the village, down to the Platt then saw it turn left and go up again. The lorry was green! Got that? Granddad says that he wondered if someone was opening a pet shop or something, what with all the barking coming from inside the lorry! You think maybe it has anything to do with all those pets gone missing?"

Even for Joe, who was not the swiftest of thinkers, this was an amazing convergence of facts. "Thank you, Miss Newcross! Tell your Granddad he's done me a wonder! I owe him a pint!"

Morwenna laughed. "Oh, thanks!" Her voice fell then went on, "But after that heart thing he had, he can't drink. Poor old fellow. But thanks anyway! Cheers!" She rang off.

It was a good thing that Morwenna had hung up or her eardrums might have been ruptured by the shout that Joe gave out. At last! At last, a real break! Now, Joe thought, all he needed was to find the truck, or the men, or the truck and the men, or one man… his racing thoughts then braked to a halt. He pursed his lips and thought very hard. Hadn't those two boys in the village talked about… of course! They said there was a strange man up on the headland, past the Doc's surgery, that had chased them away that afternoon. It was just before he went out to talk to the vet. And the kids told him the bad man carried some electronic thing?

Joe looked at his watch on his right wrist. It was getting late and dusk was near. He didn't relish going up to the village headland at night, as he _rarely_ ventured out at night. If he drove the police Bedford up there, the suspects; for now those two men were _definitely_ suspects; if they were there or nearby they might flee.

He let the Bedford sit for a few minutes while his euphoria and racing mind both faded and slowed respectively. He'd need backup, or no… if this didn't pan out… better not to call another officer. They might not see the _importance_ of finding these missing dogs. If those two blokes were searching in Ruth's fields, whatever for? Joe was not a rocket scientist, just an honest, hardworking – well _Joe_ – and he did have his pride, sometimes too much, so he resolved to use his own resources.

But what if this didn't pan out? He'd be another laughing stock, especially after the daft custodian climbed to the school roof and Joe had frozen in fear on the ladder, while trying to help Doc Martin.

He sighed. "That was a bad one, Joe! Somebody might have been hurt!" Joe looked out the passenger side window at the desolate fields on the edge of the moor, dotted with boulders. There must be something he could do! Just then eyes fell to a creased handbill that Bert Large had given him three weeks back, laying on the seat under his handcuff case. He held up the handbill in the fading light.

It read:

**Haunted Portwenn Outing!**

**Find out the hidden history of Portwenn!**

**Spooks, goblins, strange happenings – GHOSTS!**

**Friday evenings! 7-30 to ?**

**£10 per person. **

**Meet at the Large Restaurant.**

Reading the flyer, Joe knew he'd have all the backup he needed. Joe whistled a happy tune on his drive back to Portwenn. Joe did not know the name of the song, but any pop music fan of the 1970s would have instantly recognized the tune as a mangled version of ABBA's 'Dancing Queen.'

000

So a disguise it was and given the chill in the air and the rising fog, a scarf, old hat and a long wool coat and he was just another face in the crowd!

And Joe thought £10 was a fairly cheap investment for a little walk in the fog as he followed Bert and his charges up the hill past the Large Restaurant.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23 - Learning

I crawled from the bed, slipped into my dressing gown while wincing as my bare feet hit the cold floor then snuck to the loo. I did not flush the toilet since I didn't want to wake James or Louisa. I then examined my square face in the mirror as I washed my hands. I didn't look that different I supposed from this morning. But this day – well this day, was when everything changed.

I dried my hands, turning up my nose at the sparse little room. The bathroom was perfectly adequate for me and my needs, but with Louisa and James here, it likely needed a good repaint, and perhaps new fixtures. The hot faucet had a tendency to drip, and sometimes rust came out of it, meaning there was iron pipe somewhere in the circuit that was failing. I rued the idea of Al Large tearing into the plumbing of the cottage. Yet if it had to be done… I sighed. "Martin, it's just one of many jobs to be done here, if you are to stay."

I touched Louisa's pyjamas where they lay on the clothing hamper in the bathroom, and returned them, unused to the bedroom, laying them on the bureau. Louisa lay twisted into a knot with the sheet and blanket doing little to hide the lean naked form of the woman beneath. I stood over her comatose body admiring the sight of her lovely hair, pretty face and long slim body. She was not exactly snoring, just breathing softly through her mouth in a slight whistling sound. How many times over this past year did I dream that she was here with me? First before our engagement, then after, and then even later when she was gone to London. Then in a startling whirlwind she returned to Portwenn, pregnant, and yet for all the shock of that first sight of her, I was glad she _was_ back. I enjoyed seeing her; even those times that we did not get along, for when I saw her it made me realize that I _did_ love her – even if we chose not to express it. That was the memory and loss we had each chosen to hold close, and not resolve.

And I did love her all through our time of difficulty. All those dustups and outright arguments; all that horrible and lonely wasted time. When all we had to do was… talk. Just talk. Just forget the awful things we said, or imagined, and push through to the core of the matter. I loved Louisa Glasson – had from the first. The plane trip down here for the interview, the fiery and probing questions she threw out at the interview. She was irritating, but I knew right then that she had a brain in her head – and not one to follow the crowd either. Although she lost that vote against me, didn't I, no _we_, end up winning at the end? I bent and softly kissed her smooth brow. She stirred slightly, her breathing changed somewhat, but she did not wake. Her hair smelled of flowers and her breathe of toothpaste and Listerine mouthwash.

I smiled at the scent of the mouthwash and then grimaced. How close I had come to destroying our relationship before it even started. Yet I couldn't exactly tell Louisa that at that stage of my post-surgery rehabilitation, any number of smells set me off. Not just blood and cauterized flesh, but binned and rotten food, mouth odor, rare beef (logically), underdone fish or shellfish, and curiously motor oil. So my comment to Louisa after we kissed in the taxi returning to Portwenn after Peter Cronk's near exsanguination from a spleen rupture was one of my very clumsy attempts to tell her that I wanted to kiss her more. Yet that is not what I said to the young woman who had just tried to suck my lip off in our hot embrace in the rear of the taxi.

Next I stood over the cot where baby James lay asleep, his stomach full of his mother's milk with his bottom swathed in a clean nappy. The clock showed it just an hour since he had been fed, and the little lad had so very nicely gone straight back to sleep - so very nice. I bent down and kissed the child as well. He flung an arm out of the soft blanket and brushed my face with his fingers. I gently held it, marveling at the miracle – the common everyday miracle of biology, reproduction, growth, and development. I tucked the tiny arm back into the rolled blanket, making sure he was propped on one side to aid digestion and not hinder his airway.

"James," I whispered to our son, "sleep well."

There were so many lessons learned in this small room; Louisa, our son James Henry, and the clothes on the floor scattered about. Seeing my discarded clothing, I picked it up from the floor and folded it. Shirt, tie, boxers, all the kit, while my suit coat and trousers were neatly draped over the chair. I also picked up her pants and bra which were flung about. I grinned at the thought of the long sought and almost desperate love making we had tonight; almost as if we starving for it. Well, weren't we?

The room now tidy, I moved to the window overlooking the lane. The fog was thick and draped over things outside like a blanket. I heard voices outside and through the mist saw Bert Large escorting a group uphill past the surgery. I groaned and it woke Louisa.

"Martin? What's wrong?" she slid from the bed and came to my side. We stood in the darkness peering out. "Somebody outside?"

"Yeah," I sneered. "Bert Large has another entrepreneurial enterprise in action of some sort."

Louisa yawned. "Well Martin you have to give the man credit for trying," she whispered. "That's his ghost tour. Surprised you haven't heard about it."

"No. I have not. But he is always trying new things." I looked at Louisa. "You're shivering!" I put arms about her and she burrowed into me.

"Look," she said, looking out the dark window. "That looks like Joe Penhale. At the back."

"Oh? That fellow?" I pointed to someone in a hat and long coat, dimly seen in the mist. "How can you tell?"

Louisa giggled. "I've known Joe a very long time. I'd recognize him at fifty paces on a moonless night."

"Yeah. He moves rather _policeman_-like, doesn't he?"

"The thumbs hooked in the belt are a bit of a giveaway, aren't they?" She looked up at me. "So, Martin. Want to keep staring outside at the fog?" She moved away and tugged on my hand. "Come back to bed."

I did as she asked, but as I stripped off my dressing gown, made to pick up my pyjamas.

"Martin? You're not putting those on, are you?"

"Well, it is rather chilly here, don't you think?"

Her head dropped and then she raised it and shook it side to side. "Martin, I do want you to bin those blue things."

"Oh. You don't like them?"

"No. I don't."

In three swift steps I strode to the waste bin and dropped them into it. "Better?"

She crooked a finger at me, so I climbed into bed next to her.

Louisa put her ice-cold hands and feet on my back and legs and I jumped but she pulled me close.

"You're quite cold again."

"Uh, hm." She murmured and then her hands started to move about and it was quite obvious to me what her intentions were.

"My God, Louisa!" I squirmed under her touch. "Again? How many times will we…"

"Shush, Martin," she hissed. "If you can't figure it out, then I'll have to repeat the lesson."

"Oh," was all I could add. "Right. I see now," I said then kissed her.

She repeated the lesson anyway.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24 – Men and Dogs

Derrick Mann looked at his daft skinny mate carry dog cages one-by-one to the lorry. He had told Mick once that dogs were a pretty penny if they looked alright, so here was Mick totally engrossed in this _other_ project while their _main_ project was going wanting.

As Mick lifted each cage, he looked through the bars and rubbed fingers across each dog's fur. When he realized that Derrick was smoking while he was doing all the work, he exploded. "Derrick, are you going to fool about and let me do this alone?" Mick said with a tone of hurt victimization. "I need help to get these bloody things into the back, you know!"

Derrick stubbed out his fag on his boot and went to help. "A big strong fellow like you? Needs a little help does he?" He answered in a mocking tone. "Right. Just get out of the way and let a real man do it!"

Mick pushed Derrick back with both hands on his shoulders. "Listen! If I told you once I told you a million times, it's my bad back! Leave off!"

The fat man held up his hands in surrender, dropped them and moved towards Mick with his right hand extended. "Sorry. Shake?" His left slipped into his battered jacket then emerged then he held that arm at his side.

"Yeah. Sorry about…" Before Mick could say anymore, the fat man had taken his hand, pulled him close and in a flash plunged a switchblade towards the younger man's neck.

Derrick held the knife just at the level of Mick's carotid artery and pushed slightly. "Not so snotty now are you?" he taunted.

"God, Derrick! Stop it!"

Derrick pushed on the knife handle a little, not enough to puncture, but just enough so he knew that Mick could feel it. "Mick McCready! I known you since you was a little 'un. I'll have no back talk, or any of that muck from you! Me and your dad were mates, but that doesn't mean that you and me are _friends_? Get it?"

Mick knew better than to squirm as Derrick was far too handy with a blade. He gulped hot spit and felt a tear start to slide down his cheek. He'd seen Derrick cut up a man outside a pub in Falmouth in a flash. "Christ! Sorry, Derrick. Don't…"

The fat man laughed. "You baby sister!" He spat at Mick's feet. "Not a lot of fight in _you_, is there?" He pushed his face up close to Mick's and stared at him. "Hell. You're not worth it." He released the younger man, folded the blade, and stepped back, never taking his eyes off Mick.

Mick stood there shaking as Derrick glared at him. Mick retreated into a quiet place inside, not moving a muscle, not a twitch, not a sign of how scared he was. He'd not been this frightened since a prison officer had slammed him twice down on to concrete, during a scuffle the last time he was in stir. That was just before he was sprung too. The guard had glared at him as Mick's eyes held terror. He'd not even been in the fight, just standing there, when he got smashed across the mouth, spun about and slammed to the floor.

The prison officer hissed in his ear, so low even he could barely here the threat. "You'll be back, Mick. And I'll be right here…" This one had been picking on him for weeks and seemed to delight in the fear he could cause with sudden lunges, shouts, or outright blows. Hold Mick on the floor, he followed up with a blow to Mick's lower back with a knee that put Mick into hospital for the rest of his time inside.

Derrick fairly tossed the remaining cages, and their four-footed occupants into the lorry, dumped his duffle into the back and then slammed the rolling door down. He swung his cruel attention to Mick once more. "Going all spacey, are we? Get in the lorry! Toss me the keys! I'll drive!"

Mick automatically responded, knowing that this project had taken an ugly turn. Still the money should be good, when they found the stuff. "Right." He looked back at the half-derelict house they'd been using for the last week. It was a small holding north of the moor, one that had been empty since the landowner died and now the courts were all tied up with legalities. He had read an article about it in the Cornish Guardian so they went looking for it.

They'd found the holding without much trouble and quick work with a jimmy had pried the lock off the door. It was not a bad little place, and since it was the first house Mick had lived in for nearly six years, it had felt like home. Although this home was so unlike the dreadful hovel his mum raised him in there was no comparison between the two.

"Come one, Mick!" shouted Derrick. "The sun is going! If we're going to dig…"

"Alright!" He slogged through the mud, hoisted his tired self into the cab then they drove away.

"Mark my words, Mick," said Derrick, speaking like nothing had happened between them just moments before. "We get that stuff the old barmy toff buried down there and we'll move it right quick. The buyer told us it was near this stinking town and he was right! Stupid little place!" he sniffed. "I'd not wipe my arse on it!" He laughed derisively.

Mick kept his mouth shut, knowing that when Derrick got his blood up like this there was no telling what he might do. In a few minutes they got to the village and passed the sign at the outskirts.

**Please drive carefully through our village.**

**Portwenn**

Derrick snickered and pressed the accelerator down and the lorry practically flew down the hill towards the white-washed cottages of the village.

000

In the back of the lorry, _Watcher_, or Buddy as people called him, continued to paw at the cage door, while the other dogs lay in despair. The cats licked themselves, showing a little sign of life.

Watcher was not too fond of cats, although they were quite good at catching mice and rats. One time he'd seen a very young cat take on a rat half his size and in two swipes of a paw and a quick bite, the rat lay dead on the floor of the chicken lady's barn. So the little dog respected cats. But did he like them? No.

His injured paw had healed nicely and he'd chewed off the bandage days back, so it was only a work of moments to tear the stitches free so he could give that paw a good lick. He'd spent a good part of that afternoon cleaning the wound. Now two days later it was very fit.

He pushed at the wire mesh door again and both felt and heard a distinct click. The door moved slightly, then stopped, held by the friction of the rusty hinges. The little dog sat back and woofed a quiet bark of triumph. Only one of the cats seemed to have noticed his act of brilliance.

Watcher sat there with a silly dog grin across his mouth, his button eyes bright with glee. Yes, this was very good. Very good!

All the animals felt the lorry speed up and then move swiftly down some sort of hill or other. The other dogs started backing at the motion, as Watcher sat there silently, just thinking.


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25 - Things

"Now," Bert Large paused to take a deep breath after the climb up the steep lane, "this here is the headland, overlooking Portwenn Harbor. Well, we could see the harbor, that is, if it wasn't so foggy!" He stood next to the bench by the gravel path which lead from the lane.

The crowd on the ghost outing chuckled, mostly. They milled around, hands in pockets, heads pulled down into collars as the chill fog enveloped them. The breeze from the sea stirred the fog bank into thick and thin areas, which pulsed in an almost organic way, but visibility was limited. Bert could barely see ten or fifteen feet, reminding him of a dreadful snowfall and whiteout some Christmas past.

Bert tried to smile as his heart thumped away as sweat ran down his face. He knew he needed to eat more salads, get more exercise, and eat a less fatty diet, just as Doc Martin had yelled at them all at poor Joan Norton's funeral service! Totally Bodmin to do that at his aunt's funeral, but the Doc was right. Bert looked down at the bulge of his belly, with his huge arms crossed over it. Bert remembered the days those arms were corded with muscle, and not sheathed in rolls of fat like they were now. Of course his late wife, Mary, told him it was his kindly face that attracted her, not a muscular build. Fortunately, Mary had died long ago, so she'd never seen the fat person he had become. Yet Bert hoped that his nature was the same; the same bashful soul that had been prodded by his mates to speak to that pretty girl waiting for the bus.

Bert returned his attention to the group, especially to Ari Aster, who was hanging on both his arm and his every word. Bert smiled down at the pretty gal and she smiled back. There was something he saw in her face which made his heart light up like it hadn't in such a long time – a very long time.

He cleared his throat. "Now, this here headland is like a lot of the moor hereabout. You know what it's like. Not a tree; just scraggly bushes and gorse, scrubby grasses, and the wind blows and blows, now don't it? Boulders and rocks here and there, a right ankle breaker if you go running about in the dark, or even the day!" He chuckled. "But I didn't drag you up here to give you any lessons in biology, nor a lecture on the ages of the earth that made those rocks. Nope not a bit! I brung you all up here, well, the tenners you all gave me had something to do with it!"

The crowd laughed and Bert smiled broadly as he knew that he had them on the hook.

Ari hugged his arm and he squeezed her hand. She smiled up at him, and the sight of her bright eyes, filled him with a warmth that drove the freezing air away. He went on with his little speech which he had honed these last three weeks. "Now out here in North Cornwall, all the way back to the Celts and the Picts, and all them ancient folks, there have been things – out here on the moor – and not always at night."

"Wha… what things?" quavered the lone little girl.

Bert bent down and looked hard into her face. "Oh, _things_, sweetie." He stretched out a hand and patted her head. "Things… _things_ that go bump in the night."

The little child gasped with all the might that an eleven-year-old could muster. She backed into her mother's arms with caution and not a little fear.

"There, there dear. Mr. Large doesn't mean to scare you!" said the child's mum.

"Oh? Don't I?" Bert uttered in a hollow voice and then laughed as the child showed real fright. "Nope. Not me!"

Luckily the crowd laughed, some a bit nervously.

Bert blew out a breath in relief and chuckled knowing the laughter meant his charges were just where he wanted them.

000

In the bushes nearby, Al crouched low, straining to hear his dad's words. His joints were stiff, knees creaking and back aching and his fingers were very cold as the old leather gloves on his hands were ragged and full of holes. The coverall he wore was covered with strips torn from old towels, as well as rags stained with motor oil, and unmentionable liquids whose origins in the back of the van, when it was used as a plumber's vehicle, were best left forgotten. Al had pulled the mangy coverall over his jeans, shirt, and cardigan, but had to jettison his green jacket on a bush as it wouldn't fit underneath. He rubbed his hands together swearing under his breath, then brought his cold fingers to his mouth and blew on them. The wool cap he wore kept his ears warm and with the balaclava covering his face at least that part was toasty, and hidden.

"Come on dad!" he muttered to himself. "Freezing my bloody balls off!" He also gently stamped his feet as his toes were the coldest of all. "Next time… if there is a next time… I'll wear double socks! Wool ones too!"

000

Mick slowly opened the rolling door of the cargo box on the lorry. The fog blew about the vehicle in billowing gusts and he stood transfixed at the sight of Derrick lighting a fag, the glow from his cigarette and the match lighting his face in an unearthly glow.

"What in hell are you gawping at, you fool?" hissed Derrick.

"Nothing!"

"Well quit mucking about and get the shovels and the other gear!"

"Alright." Mick climbed into the truck, the dogs giving him an odd surprised look, as he flashed a dim torch about in the confined space. He stopped in alarm as the little white dog, the one who'd had a cut paw, sat bolt upright, his floppy brown ears held nearly erect above his bright dark eyes and dog grin. "Wot you lookin' at dog? Your paw fixed now chum?" The dog woofed softly, sitting in the cage, his chest pushed against the mesh door. Mick lifted a hand to stroke the dog's fur. Perhaps he'd keep this one when they sold the rest. "Don't you worry, now. You'll have new homes… somewhere else! And me and Derrick will have a nice bit of change as well."

Derrick banged on the cargo box. "Mick! Get a bloody move on! Freezin out here," urged the man in an angry tone.

Mick rubbed his neck where Derrick had poked him with the knife. "Sure, Derrick. Right away!" He picked up two shovels, the metal detector, and a large duffle. He jumped from the truck, leaving the rollup door wide open.

Buddy leaned a teeny bit more on the cage door and it slowly opened as Mick walked into the dark.

000

Bert lowered his voice a bit and went on. "There's strange things happen out on the moor, you know. People go out, like you and me, just like tonight, and _never_ come back – never get found either! Cars get found empty – fuel in the tank – they start when you turn the key. But they never get found!" he hissed.

"Most likely they come out here to do themselves a harm! Listen! The sea is quite close," added Ian Hardcastle. "Cliffs and all."

Bert cleared his throat with irritation. "Well… perhaps. But what about those folks who disappear taking a walk over the moor? Far from the ocean?"

Hardcastle ducked his head. "You may be…"

"Right. I am," said Bert and rolled his eyes. "_Right_ that is. And there are stories, old – very old stories – ones that go far back. There is something…"

"What… sort of something?" grunted Alan, his voice quaking.

"Something… something that moves, swift as a gull, fierce as a killer whale, more deadly than the worst thing you ever imagined!" intoned Bert solemnly.

Alan gulped, feeling his knees shake. Yet was this any worse than, say, the man in armor? He chuckled, more in anxiety than fear.

"You laughing Alan?" asked Bert.

"No, not really… just a little nervous." Which wasn't quite true, as his stomach fell as he spoke.

"Nervous?" Bert turned in a circle giving every member of tonight's outing a solemn look. "Nervous."

"Yeah," said the boy. "Just nervous."

"Seems to me, you might act a bit more like…" Bert started to say.

000

Derrick threw his fag into the wet grass and pointed to the three rocks he remembered from the afternoon. He'd gotten a good hit with the metal detector when those little brats showed up today. What was the world coming to when you couldn't even go for a ramble without someone being all nosy? He flipped the device on and quickly homed in to the spot. He dug a boot into the turf, shining his torch onto the ground, on the spot he'd marked.

"Here. Dig." He pointed to the spot. "Now."

Mick pushed down with his shovel and moved about half a shovelful of dirt and sod. "Tough."

"Yeah."

"You gonna help, Derrick?"

"I'm the brains. You dig."

Mick rubbed his neck once more. "Ok." He jabbed the shovel into the ground and hit a rock, with a sharp ring. "Damn."

000

"Listen," said Bert and everyone froze as a sharp metallic clank echoed through the cloud. "What in the hell?"

Not thirty feet away, Al Large froze where he crouched in the shrubbery. "Now what is that?"


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26 – Happy

"Now," I whispered to Martin, who somehow had ended up flat on his back with me draped over him like a succubus, "how was that?"

He pressed his lips to mine. "Amazing," he said after a long kiss.

"I thought so too," I answered.

He softly ran a hand over my shoulder and down my back. "You know…"

"Yes?"

"We do need _some_ sleep; tonight, I mean."

"Oh." I breathed into his ear. "Plenty of time for sleep, Martin. Going somewhere Saturday?"

"When, Louisa?" he gently hissed into my ear. "The way we've been carrying on… like a couple of teenagers."

"You don't like it?" The _nerve_ of the man. "You'll have to get used to it then."

His hands stopped near my waist. "I suppose I shall."

"You suppose?" I lightly slapped his cheek.

"Yeah," he chuckled. "But seriously, uhm… I should likely go to Wadebridge tomorrow and check on Mrs. Tishell. Make a statement to her doctors. They likely have her shot up with tranks tonight…"

I dropped a well-manicured hand over his mouth. "Martin!" I hissed at him. "Let's not talk about Sally. Don't spoil the romance, for God's sake! It's been far too long as it is!"

I could just make out his face in the dark. "Yes. I suppose you are right."

"Of course I'm right, Martin." I slid off of his broad chest and flopped onto my back. His hand came over and held mine; our fingers interlaced automatically. Hard to believe all that had happened in the past few hours. There was one thing, though, I wanted to ask, and one more to mention.

"Martin?" I began, "after dinner, when we came upstairs, and I was nursing James…" I hesitated.

"What Louisa?"

I took a deep breath. "I heard you shaving; with your electric razor."

"Yes."

"Why'd you do that?"

"I, uhm… had stubble."

"Yes. But you shaved."

"Yes."

"Why? You never did that before at night, not even… uhm, last year - at night I mean."

"Oh." He squeezed my hand and rolled onto his side, his mouth at my ear. "I examined a couple this week that were staying up at Pentire Castle. The woman… erh, perhaps, I shouldn't discuss this."

"Don't tell me their names. Will that do?"

"Yes. Good idea. They uh, being, newlywed… were engaging in… frequent… sessions… of intercourse… apparently, based on the stubble rash the girl had on her face. Or so I thought. Turned out it was caused by a sample aftershave the man was using, which gave her epidermal irritation." He lay next to me uncomfortably, quite different from moments ago when we definitely _not_ uncomfortable with each other.

What? "Sorry, Martin. I lost the thread there. What has that got to do with you shaving this evening?" Then it hit me. "You did it for _me_. You _shaved_ for _me_?"

Martin sighed. "Yes, Louisa. I didn't want to… mark you… hurt you… that is, if we… uhm, if we…"

"Made love; that it?"

He relaxed slightly. "Yes… if we made love."

I turned onto my side to face him and kissed him tenderly on the lips, cheeks, and forehead. "Thank you, Martin." I cradled his body. "That makes me happy."

"Does it?" He rubbed my neck. "Good. If you're happy… then that makes me happy, Louisa."

_Happy?_ Did Doctor Martin Ellingham just say that he was happy? Happy because I was happy? A miracle – a bona fide miracle. I half expected a choir of angels to start singing at that moment. I listened but only heard the wind whistling about the cottage.

I snuggled closer to Martin. I never called him _Marty_ – that was Joan's name for the little boy she remembered. I never called him _Doc_ Martin, which he hated – likely the one thing he hated the most about Portwenn. No, he was Martin – always _Martin_. Even his Aunt Ruth called him that. It was an adult name, one worthy of respect.

And respect was the one thing he clearly wanted. Given what I suspected, or outright knew about Martin Ellingham, he deserved respect. I wondered how many times he had been teased, bullied, or outright abused at school, or at home for that matter.

Still waters, Louisa. Still waters. Time will tell that tale.

"You're happy," I told the man.

"Yes," he started to say, sounding rather surprised. "Happier than I've been… well, for such a long time."

"For about a year?"

"About. But… when the baby was born… James Henry was born… I was happy then. I mean that he was born, and healthy, and that you were his mother."

I sighed, recalling that lovely birth experience in a pub with no pain relief, no firm supportive mattress under me, no pastel walls or soothing music. But there was something he'd just said.

"That _I_ was his _mother_?"

"Yes. You, Louisa."

That time I did hear a choir singing as it must have been a miracle to hear those words come from the mouth of Doctor Martin Ellingham. Or perhaps it was just voices on the wind.

But the more I listened intently, the heavenly choir seemed to be shouting.


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27 – Confluence

Watcher pushed again on the cage door and it swung open enough for him to get out. The other dogs looked up with some interest as he tried to open the other doors. He thought he had one or two almost free, and if the occupant might have helped, he'd have succeeded, but the latches were two stiff for his little mouth to manipulate.

If he only had fingers, he thought once again with regret. Well, no matter. It was going to be up to him, all _alone_ after all. He went to the open door of the lorry, and looked out into the fog. He heard low voices and metallic sounds nearby, to his left. He jumped to the ground and took a good sniff of the damp air, turning about to get his bearings.

Yes, Stiffman and Fatty were ahead of him. He smelled the two men, their spicy unwashed smell strikingly affecting him also the nice earthy smell of new dug dirt and wet grass. From other scents and sounds, he decided, that there were other people out there in the fog too. It was all such a jumble of smells that he wasn't certain how many there were; but certainly many – more than a few. He couldn't count very well, but he did know the difference between one, two, and many. And what his nose told him was _many_.

Watcher had a good shake and scratched a little under his belly while he thought of what to do. He could run away and hide or go back to the farm where the new woman was living. He looked back at the truck where the other dogs and two cats were still locked away, strangely silent throughout his escape. But what of them? It didn't seem fair that he'd be free while they were not.

So, he put his nose to the ground, and followed the men's scents until he could just make out their shapes in the fog. He crouched down behind a large rock and waited for developments.

000

When Bert heard the metallic clang he imagined the knight in the mirror was out in the fog. He was starting to put hand to mouth and chew a knuckle when Ari tugged on his arm.

"Bert, do go on!" she said brightly.

"Ok," he stiffened his spine. That noise was probably Al messing about, if he was on time. "So I was sayin' there are things out here – on the moor – in the fog."

"Ooooh - creepy stuff then," said the little girl. "Have you got somebody out there to scare us?"

Bert bit his lip as he'd have liked the swat the cute little thing across the back of the head. "He-he. No, my dear, now why would I do that?" He threw out his chest and waved his arms. "What I'm sayin' friends, is that there are _things_ that we know not of. Mysteries beyond knowing; enigmas, riddles, unknowable facts. Things those scientist johnnies, philosophers, _and_ ministers know nothing of! For all our learnin' and rocket ships to Mars, and all that Internet stuff, we don't know a damn thing! Beggin' your pardon, of course!"

The people around him chuckled as he turned and Bert heard more noises in the fog, far from the cliff edge, which was strange as Al was supposed to be hiding in those bushes just beyond the group towards the ocean. But he guessed the boy must have some new thing planned tonight.

"Come on," he waved. "Let's take a little a jaunt up the hill here and we'll jaw some more." The people followed him in a loose clot, a few stragglers, but by looking back he could see they all followed.

000

Joe Penhale heard the clank of metal on stone and his senses went to high alert. He undid a coat button so he could pull out his pepper spray. He reached to his belt and fumbled a bit, then found the holster that held the spray can empty! He patted his pockets in vain, realizing that his best offensive weapon had gone adrift somewhere on this evening's ramble. "Damn," he muttered.

"What's that?" asked a lady walking alongside.

Joe thought quickly for an answer. "Nothing. Just forgot to pay my electric bill."

"Poor you," she said. "Terrible time to be without power isn't it?"

"Yeah," said Joe. No power. That was his problem. Maybe that's why he lost Maggie? No oomph, no juice, no… power. He sighed and followed Bert Large to whatever lay in the fog this evening.

000

Al large could dimly make out his dad and his customers gathered together. He strained his ears to hear the keywords that would tell him to make an appearance. He felt the rusty chain looped about his belt ready to rattle it to add to the moaning he'd practiced tonight. The last time they did this there was no fog, so he had to make his appearance with more sound and a lot less sight. But tonight, he noticed the fog grew thicker as his dad disappeared, he slowly walked from the bushes to where they had been. But they were gone.

"Must have moved off." He said quietly. He took a few more steps and could just make out a dark blob moving away from the cliffs. "That must be them!" He followed the shapes slowly as the meandered about.

He could hear his dad speaking.

"So, good people. Tonight we've chatted about ghosts and goblins and add to that missing people, strange noises and things going bump in the dark. But now - well - here we are near the most bizarre and devilish thing imaginable! For here friends, here, on this barren spot there is a beast about. A weird thing not none to man nor to God. For here – we have the _Beast_ of _Bodmin_." Bert finished this with a flourish and a wave of his wool cap.

The 14-year-old Alan spoke up. "Bert, you talking about the ABC, right?"

Bert has hard up. "What's that Alan? ABC? This ain't your school letters boy. This is…"

"I know, I know," exclaimed Alan. "ABC. You _know_. Anomalous Big Cat. I read about it on the Internet."

Bert laughed. "A cat, boy? And what's an _anomolosity_?"

"No. Anomalous." Alan spoke the word slowly. "Means weird and unexpected. Like the Yeti – the Abominable Snowman – you know in the Himalayas. It's not supposed to be up in those mountains. Like these large cats in Britain - not expected - _anomalous_!"

Bert shook his head as Alan went on speaking. The crowd was turning to Alan now and Bert was losing his audience. Bert laughed aloud. "Snowman? Go on. There isn't any snow! Now as I was sayin'…"

"Bert," said Ian Hardcastle. "Let the boy speak, would you? You're not the only one who knows things."

Bert bristled at the suggestion but he kept quiet for a bit.

"Now," said Alan, "people have been saying they've seen big cats on the moors in Cornwall, and other places too. Usually big and black and they've even taken photos. Maybe they're remnant survivors of a dying feline race, or maybe they're escaped from some private zoo or collector. But sheep do get snatched now and then; dogs too. They get their throats ripped away, some of them! They found bodies and everything!"

Bert felt sweat break out on his brow as cold mist penetrated ever deeper into his jumper. "Now, now! That's all just talk, is all!" Bert threw at the boy. "A big cat, you say?" Bert flashed back to what he'd said to Al this very night – 'we never joke about the Beast!'

Just then, a man at the back of the crowd half turned his head and saw something , a dark _something_, nearby in the mist, and whatever it was, it was coming closer. "Ah!" he screamed. "There it is!" and pointed straight at it and he went on yelling.

000

Al had crept closer on all fours towards Bert's little group, trying to hear his dad say the keyword. He'd just made out the words _Beast_ and _Bodmin_, so he stood up, rattling the chain, and making a moaning noise in his throat. He took a step closer, seeing the people start cluster together in fear, so he rattled the chain once more and moaned louder, adding a guttural roar to his throat.

A man yelled out. "Ah! There it is!" and turned to run.

Al lifted his arms over his head and took another step, but that's when a shovel came down on his shoulder and head and he dropped like a stone.


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28 – About People

Mick McCready heard people approach in the fog bank - a lot of people - and he was startled. They'd scoped this place out pretty thoroughly the other night and it was empty as a graveyard then. But for some reason tonight, just when they got to work, there was a crowd. He heard a sort of jolly voice talking about ghosts and such and then started an argument with a much younger voice about cats, none of which made any sense to him. He looked to Derrick for guidance who motioned him to stay quiet with a finger held to his lips.

Mick stayed stock still as the people, and there were many, were clustered off to his right, as he faced the sea. At least he assumed he was facing the ocean, as the wave sounds were loudest in that direction. The upturned hole in the earth at his feet held a dark bag of some sort and he ached to open it.

Derrick Mann heard the voices as well and grew very angry. All they needed was a teeny bit of _privacy_ to get this job done. Mick had just uncovered a sort of leather bag in the hole when there were voices out of the cloud around them. Blast it, he thought.

He shoved his shovel into the hole and levered the bag out. It was lumpy and bumpy and something inside tinkled metallically as he pried it from the clinging soil. He snapped their torch off lying on the ground and the bag fell back into the gloom of night. He had no time to inspect the bag when some weird sort of figure to his left appeared which crept along on all fours intent on the voices in the fog.

The apparition looked to him like a cartoon of a person – but one like none other he'd ever seen! It seemed to have strips of seaweed or something fibrous all over its back and limbs, but when it raised itself on hind legs he realized it was someone wearing a camouflage suit of some sort.

Now why in the world would some bloke be stalking about in a get-up like that at night? He puzzled over that for a few seconds. The thing got quite close to him and Mick, and how it missed them two of them he had no idea. But whoever it was _seemed _to be following the voices, which, as the fog blew about, were revealed for an instant as a group of a dozen or so folk, gathered about a fat man wearing a wool skull cap.

Derrick saw Mick staring at him in amazement as all these things appeared for an instant or two. He hoped that these people might just wander away and they could finish the job, but the thing creeping across his line of vision put paid to that thought.

Just then the person in the weird suit stood and rattled a chain and made spooky and harsh noises, and somebody in the group screamed.

"Ah! There it is!" came the cry along with a surge of blind motion in the group.

That tore it. The person in the camo suit took a step and almost went into the hole they'd dug. That's when Derrick lashed out with his spade and flattened the thing with one swift blow.

000

Watcher lay on the wet rough grass, his nose sniffing the damp mist. He smelled more people nearby. Too many to count; just a lot, as his doggy brain could count one, two and many. He suspected that people had an entirely different system of measuring things from the way in which they waved those wonderful fingers about. They also liked to stare at signs and papers. He assumed this must be how they passed on information from one to the other over time. He sighed. How different people and dogs were. But like dogs, there were happy people, smart ones, and stupid ones, dirty and clean – all sorts.

The two dirtiest and smelliest people of his recent acquaintance were digging away at the ground. Well, one was digging and the other was mostly watching leaning on a shovel. Watcher smelled the damp earth and as it came up he got whiffs of mold, mud, tough grasses and weeds, and a smell he connected to a barn near the chicken lady's farm. That barn was owned by another farmer, a very sour man who kept a few sheep, and the barn had once held horses and their tack. So the odor he picked up on the breeze was one of old leather, tanned a long time back; ages and ages. The smell made a picture in his mind and he could almost taste the rough texture of his tongue sliding over a leather bridle that had fallen into the straw of that barn.

That other farmer didn't like him, as the name he yelled, 'Damn Dog,' matched those of other angry people from the past, who often followed those words with a kick or a thrown object. But the mean farmer had a friend. Well, Watcher supposed he was a friend, who came often in a giant green tank carrying wagon sort of thing. That man always stopped to pet Watcher and sometimes offered a sausage of a bit of cheese – and never old or moldy, but always fresh.

At that sight, the mean farmer would yell and scream even more and wave his arms about, but his friend, a large-ish younger man with friendly eyes and dark hair would keep petting Watcher until the mean farmer approached. Buddy had learned to run when that man got too close, but when the younger man was there he'd usually stand his ground. The young man would never let the farmer lash out at him, and throwing arms about the farmer would calm him and walk the farmer back to the house.

The little dog felt that even the mean farmer might become a friend in time, once he got to know him, as he saw how the farmer's face would soften and light up when the big tank wagon thing drove up to the farmhouse. Those two, the old mean farmer and the young man, would embrace so Watcher knew that the sour farmer was not beyond hope.

Watcher sighed, wishing that the chicken lady had come home – the day she left and didn't come back to the farm wasn't that long ago. The little dog remembered well she had seemed so happy that day as she got into her dirty truck thing and sped off. He sensed that she'd not return now, as the other lady moved right into the house, shifted furniture about and worked on cleaning the place up. Somehow the little dog felt he would solve that mystery – where did she go and why?

He knew how things changed in the world. His brother and sister puppies were carried off one by one to other places. He once came across a brother who told him about the wonderful house he'd lived in for a while, until there was a fire and it burned down. So watcher knew that things changed, but he didn't know why.

He'd lived in places where other pets and people stopped moving and didn't ever move again. There was a sadness that came over people when that happened. A pet bird that sang happily from a cage stopped singing and did not ever again. He'd sniffed below the cage and barked to let the humans know that something had happened. They came running, the young couple who had him for a while. Their eyes grew wet as they took the little bird, put it into a pasteboard box, and buried it in the garden. Watcher had sniffed the feathered thing and it had an odor of mustiness and decay.

Yes, Watcher knew about death. It was everywhere about. That might be what the happened to the chicken lady. He growled though at the thought. He had decided he'd not believe that until he saw the hole where she lay. Humans liked to bury things, just as dogs did. But dogs would retrieve a bone or a nice well decayed rabbit. But he'd never seen people dig up something they had buried – until today that is.

He sniffed the air once more and considered what the smells told him. There was something made of metal, the hard shiny stuff that people used on their houses and most mechanical things, inside that ancient leather bag. Why, he wondered, would anyone dig a hole and put metal into it?

000

Al Large felt a crushing blow on his shoulder and ear and the ground seemed to come right up and hit him square in the face. He lay stunned on the gorse for a second or two until the pain started. He rolled over to see a big ugly man bending over him, a sharp edged spade poised to swing at him again.

"Jesus, mate!" he yelled up at his attacker. "Why'd you do that?" He held his shoulder and tried to move it, but it was laced with fire and his ear didn't feel much better.

"You shut it!" said the man menacingly. He bent down and ripped the mask from Al's face. "Wot you up to, you sneaky bastard?"

Another strange man, thinner and younger, rushed out of the fog and pulled at the arm holding the spade. "Derrick, for God's sake! Stop it!" This one too held a shovel and he looked rather scared.

Suddenly the one called Derrick was thrust away by a large man; one of great bulk. "Hey! What are you doing bashing my son about?"

Lying on the cold and wet ground, Al felt warm all over as his dad stood over him protectively, his two great paws balled into meaty fists.


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29 - Blows

Bert faced off with the older attacker and he quickly sized up the man. The bloke was bearded and a bit grizzled, his salt-and-pepper hair peeping out from under a battered hat. Bert guessed his weight at around twelve stone or so, and from the look of his corded hands and wrists sticking out of his blue jumper, he was used to manual labor – likely a mechanic or laborer. Bert thought he could take the man, if he had to.

"Al!" Bert yelled down to his son sprawled on the wet ground below him. "You ok?"

"What you come off doing that for?" Al shouted, now sitting up and rubbing his shoulder.

The assailant reared back a bit then dropped the shovel. "Right. Fists it shall be," he said and took up a matching stance to Bert. "Anytime you're ready then!"

"Derrick! Stop!" said the other one, who was quite a bit younger, with short blonde hair and wore a drab green coat. "You can't just go bashing people about!"

Some of the men rushed to Bert's side, glaring at the two strangers, some shaking fists, and Ian Hardcastle brandishing his torch like a club.

They threw questions at the man all in a jumble. "What you doing? You can't beat up people like that!"

Bert looked from side to side at his reinforcements then up again at the older man. "So," he said slowly. "What are your intentions? Going to take us on one by one?"

Ari Aster dropped to Al's side and looked him over. "How's your head? Any dizziness or nausea; anything like that?" She peeled eyelids down and looked into each eye, using her mobile light as a torch.

"No," replied Al. "But my shoulder sure hurts and feels like there's a wacky great chunk out of my ear."

Ari checked his right ear. "You've got a nice slice behind it. You'll have a large hematoma in a bit. Bit of blood back there as well." She patted his arm. "Don't suppose you've got a GP in the village do you?"

Bert looked down at the woman crouching by Al. "Yeah, we do. You still alive down there Al?"

Al grimaced and rotated his arm. "Yeah, dad. A bit knocked about, but…"

Derrick squatted down to look at Al. "Sorry mate. Me and my chum here, well… we're just doing a survey for the council, and then you showed up all…" he waved at the tattered coverall and rags. "Spooky like. Scared the hell out of me, you know?"

"Doing a survey? At night?" asked Bert. "Right… so you mind telling me," he looked to the sides.

"Us," threw in Ian. "_All_ of us."

"Why the bloody hell you two are up here at all. At night?" added the tall muffled man at the rear of pack.

The young man went up to the old one. He cocked his head at the man. "Derrick… you think maybe we could just… let all this go?"

The man hissed back. "You bloody fool, Mick! Now they know my name!" He shoved the young one aside. "Bugger!" he yelled, reached down and grabbing Ari Aster by the hair had her hauled erect in a flash.

"Now, now," said Bert. "No need for that is there?"

"Probably not," said the man who stuck a hand in his pocket, came out with something, and suddenly there was a knife held to her throat. "Now…" he smiled grimly. "Listen very carefully… all of you! Don't move – except to hand your wallets and handbags up here. Slowly now. Very slowly."

000

Watcher moved slowly forward, sliding on his belly, until he could just make out the people standing in a clutch. His nose told him the people in the fog were upset, as he could smell sweat, both old and new. He caught a glint of light from a metal object held to the woman's throat by Fatty, the mean one who'd held him and the other animals for days and days. Watcher's lips pulled back from his teeth.

The little dog stifled a growl that was building in his throat as he didn't want to give himself away. Slowly, ever so slowly, he slid forward a paw's length at a time, judging the distance carefully gauging the proper moment to spring.

000

Joe Penhale gulped as he caught a flash from the blade held to the woman's neck. Once more he fumbled under his coat, reaching for the missing pepper spray. In vain, he ran his hand over his police equipment belt, finally finding just what he needed.

He smiled his typical toothless smile, and dropping down, backed away from the crowd into the concealing fog bank.


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30 – The Piper

There was a time for everything. A time to live, a time to die, and a time to take action. And with that action, there will be consequences. Some call it 'Paying the Piper.' Police Constable Joe Penhale was determined to make that happen. He circled off to his left, carefully making his way uphill and crouched low until he went for thirty feet or so. He stood up when he couldn't see anyone in the fog, but he could still hear angry voices.

People were yelling at those two – Derrick and Mick – and their voices boomed in the air and his head.

"Pass those wallets up here! Smartly now!" came Derrick's strident tone.

"We really don't have to do this," pleaded the other one, called Mick.

"Shut it, Mick! If you weren't so bloody stupid, we'd be done with this job! Now get busy and collect the goodies!" Derrick answered.

Penhale gulped, wondering how all this turn out. As he pondered that one, he bumped into a small lorry, waiting patiently in the fog. He circled it slowly, noticing the open cargo door and the empty cab. He stuck his head in through the open driver's door window, smelling mud and old cigarettes, and saw the keys dangling from the dashboard. He pocketed those and then went to the rear. There he saw a stack of filthy and rusty cages, most holding dogs and cats in the light of a small torch he put to work. There were eight dogs and two cats; almost the entire rank of the missing one dozen pets from the village. Oddly the animals lay there soundlessly.

"Well," he hissed at the sight. "Seems like that's one mystery solved. Now about the other one…" He held up his hands to the dogs, some of who looked at him curiously. "Poor beasts. Just stay right here and I'll be back soon to let you out."

Joe fingered his radio and almost pushed the transmit button. "No." He dropped his hand. He still didn't have the perps in hand. He'd not call the incident in until he had that settled.

He stepped down from the lorry and tugged at his police vest under his coat then ran his hand over the weapon he had clipped to his belt. He smiled as he hefted it, thinking how earlier today he had claimed it useless.

Whistling a soundless tune through his teeth, Joe slowly walked back downhill, towards the skirmish to come.

000

Watcher crawled forward a little more, his ears erect and forward, tail behind and rigid, his muscles quivering with tension, and his eyes and teeth fixed on the target, which was one particularly dirty ankle, the skin visible in patches through a threadbare sock.

The little dog knew it was wrong, and quite forward, to go about biting people. Teeth were to be used for eating, gnawing on bones, or for picking up things to be carried such as sticks or the odd doggy toy.

But his teeth and tongue, _this_ time, could _taste_ the firm warm flesh under that sock; the flesh which he had dreamed about biting. He had made his choice. He had four ankles to choose from. He had thought of the two men for a time – Fatty and Stiffman – and had then chosen quite carefully. It didn't matter which ankle he chose, left or right, as the effect would be just as pleasing to him but just as shocking to the owner.

He crept another foot, or about one of his body-lengths as he thought of it, as the people yelled at one another and milled about. He stole a quick glance upward at one hand in particular which held a metal thing at the neck of a woman. Perhaps that should be the target? Harder to reach as it was further off the ground. Yet was that the greater threat?

The little dog had seen the farmer lady wring the neck of a chicken and then lop off the head with a knife. He knew that the neck was a very vulnerable spot, and the way that Fatty held the thing to woman's throat did not look very friendly – not at all.

So Watcher shifted his gaze and his plan to a much higher plane.

000

"Now look here," said Bert Large to the man holding Ari. "We can sort this, can't we? We'll give you our money, not that anyone in this poor village has any!" He chuckled. "Just let the lady go. You alright, Ari?"

"Yeah, so far," she replied.

"And she will be if you lot do as I say!" Derrick jabbed out with the knife in his hand. "Get those wallets up here! Mick, collect them! Straight away!"

"But Derrick…" whinged Mick. "We don't have to do this! Just let them go, for God's sake! We can take the bag and go!"

"So…" interrupted Bert. "I see you been doing an excavation! There's no pipes up here! I know that for a fact." He pointed to his chest. "I'm a plumber, well, I'm now a restaurant owner, perhaps, and maybe I'm more of a manager, what with Al technically owning the place."

"You!" shouted Derrick, who now pointed the blade at Bert. "Rubbish! Just shut it! _You_ are going _me_ a headache."

Mick was taking a handful of wallets from someone and out of the corner of his eye saw a flash of a shiny something in the fog. He turned his head a fraction towards it and he felt a shock flow through him. There stood a tall man, dressed in chain mail and armor, of all things, standing over the hole they'd dug.

The figure looked at him sorrowfully with dark eyes which lifted up from the leather bag they'd found in the hole. It pointed a black clad hand at him. "You defiler!" it screamed in deep tones. "You… thief!" and then it took a step forward towards him.

Mick tumbled backwards in fright; just as the dog called Buddy launched himself at Derrick's knife-holding hand with three running steps.

000

PC Joe Penhale had crept down to the group and observed them milling about. The fat man still held Ari by the hair and also threatened Bert with his knife. He slowly inhaled cold air, blowing it out and again, until he was ready to strike.

Joe hefted his handcuffs, their smooth heavy metal a comforting weight in his hand, and pushing past some joker dressed in a Halloween suit of armor, lunged forward while swinging the manacles overhead aimed straight at the back of Derrick's head.


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31 – Cuddle Interruptus

I was spooned right up against Louisa's warm back, both of us on our left sides, and I was almost falling asleep, after another _encounter_, when she reached behind her, took my hand and pulling it over herself, held it against her bare right breast. The feel of warm skin in _that_ place jolted me to full awareness.

"Thank you, Martin," she murmured.

"Ok." I felt rather self-conscious at that moment and tried to pull my hand back.

"No." She pulled my hand back and held it softly against her bust. "Just hold me. Not too tight, though. I don't want to leak. Ok?"

I nodded _yes_ and then sighed. Louisa was quite, well, _what_ was she? My attention returned to the matter that was at hand, literally. Her breasts were clearly adequate for nursing as James was growing well, and Louisa was very attentive to eating right, other than the odd chocolate biscuit. She ate plenty of veg and fruit, plus vitamins, and fresh water and milk. She hadn't become overdeveloped during pregnancy, nor had she become excessively engorged when her milk came in. Yet, her insistence tonight on my touching her breasts seemed… needy. Or perhaps, sex-starved. Maybe deprived was a better word?

"Problem?" she whispered.

"No. Not at all." I allowed myself to feel some enjoyment at our closeness. "All this is a bit… unexpected, don't you think?"

"Am I alarming you? We are parents, Martin, and you did offer me a ring again a while ago."

"No." I cleared my throat after the lie. "Yes we are and I did."

She let my hand go and rolled over to face me. I could just make out her face in the dark bedroom. "But…" she said hesitantly.

I shook my head. "No buts."

"We've done this all backwards haven't we?"

"I don't care."

"I don't think that's true, Martin. Remember when we got engaged and you called me all in a panic the next morning, saying that people knew about us? That we were engaged?"

"Yeah. When I had patients barging up to surgery smiling and chatting, well, it was pretty obvious, along with their leering that they knew we had… uhm… we'd…"

"Made love, Martin? Relax. It's ok."

"Dave the postman is the obvious one to spread that news, as he was scarfing up every sweet roll and barm cake at every cottage available. Blast the man! And he got aspergillosis for his trouble from that batty basement scientist, Janet Sawle!"

"You haven't forgiven Dave, have you?"

"No."

Louisa sighed into the juncture of my neck and shoulder. "Martin; dear Martin. You got embarrassed, that's all. And thank God you were able to diagnosis him and Mick Mabley, plus the Large's and Beth Sawle as well. Brilliant that."

"Yes, I did. But the other was just medical deduction. And I really don't like people mucking about with my… erh, our… actions!"

"Well… how do you think _I _felt when I came back to my village, sticking out to _here_, and everyone could see the truth? That I was preggers. Knocked up." She sniffed. "Damn, sorry." Her hand came up and wiped at her cheek.

"No, no, Louisa! Don't cry." I added my hand to dab at her wet cheek and she grasped my fingers. "That's over… it's over."

She sighed. "Yes. But I think the worst was the eyes; all their damn eyes. Staring; accusing."

"Sh, sh… that's enough of that."

"Makes me so mad – all those holier-than-thou – ugh!" She clenched her fist then slowly opened her hand. "Sorry."

"Ok." I kissed her. "We'll have to get used to it. Once they get used to us… being … together… again, perhaps it will stop."

She snuggled into my arms and hugged me. "You've lived in the village for how long and think that tongues _ever_ stop wagging?" She chuckled. "You still have a lot to learn. I'll have to teach you."

We lay like that for a little while and I was drifting towards sleep once more. Louisa had conked out; her breaths coming out in little sonorous snorts. She'd have to use the sleep-aid strips once more, or have surgery, as I needed my sleep. But with our exertions today as well as tonight… well, I'd be asleep soon. I closed my eyes and listened to the waves below the cliff and drifted away.

000

"Bert, you got 'im?" Joe shouted. He stepped back after clicking the handcuffs onto thick wrists.

"Oh yes, Joe, I have him!" Bert was lying on Derrick in an unflattering way, pinning the man to the ground. He laughed. "This sod isn't going anywhere!" He patted the man's cheek.

"Get off me, you great oaf!" Derrick yelled. He kicked at Buddy who was still trying to tear at him. "And get that bloody dog away, would you! He's almost torn my hand off as it is!"

"Now, now you! That's enough," said Joe, standing over the scene with thumbs hooked over his belt. "Now you will see, that crime does not pay. I am Police Constable Joseph Penhale and the two of you, under arrest!" He smiled at the people milling around. "Crime _never_ pays!" he added through gritted teeth. He was quite glad he'd kept the handcuffs at hand, so to speak. He could just as easily have left them at the station, back in the dusty drawer where they usually lay.

Ari Aster peered down at the digger turned robber who was now a prisoner. "I've looked at your hand, you know. It's not bitten that badly. And my kerchief has stanched most of the blood."

Derrick continued to struggle and curse.

Mick sat on the ground rubbing his bum where he'd banged it on a rock when he fell backwards. "Shut it, Derrick! I said _you_ was makin' it worse! Now you got yours, mate!" He spat in Derrick's direction.

"Arse," spat Derrick in return. "And if anybody cares, I've got one hell of a headache."

"Well, I might be an arse, but I'm not the one who was waving a knife about, now was I? And who, Mr. high-and-mighty-mastermind Derrick Mann, _who_ has binders on his wrists? How's those chrome steel bracelets suit you, you great git?"

Derrick uttered vile threats once more, until Joe Penhale pulled Bert's knit cap away and then stuffed it into Derrick's mouth.

Joe smiled. "Quiet. That's what I like." He stood and eyed the two of Bert's tourists. "You and you. You just volunteered. There's a lorry parked up that away, near the top of the hill, and there's a bunch of dogs, and some cats, penned up in the back. Go let them out. I think they'll likely find their way straight home."

The two nodded and set off.

"Right," said Joe. He looked down at the other perp. "Now, sir." He took out his pad and pencil. "How about a name?"

"Mick McCready, well, it's really Michael McCready, officer. Mick for short." He squirmed under the grip of two men and a woman behind him. "You got a doctor in this village? If Derrick is bleedin' and my hip is killing me, you think we could get patched up, before you lock us away?"

Ari nodded in the gloom. "Good idea, I think." She looked at Al Large who was still sitting calmly on the ground rubbing his shoulder.

"I'm for that one!" Al sighed. "Dad, another bloody mess we're in and I get the lumps! Just like last time!"

"Son, son!" chuckled Bert. "Everything's come out ok? See? Like always!" He glanced at Ari. "Always does, I do think."

"Right," said Ari who reached over and petted the little dog who had bitten Derrick's hand. The dog sat at attention, teeth still bared at Derrick with occasional quick glares at Mick. "So, boy, where did you come from? Saved the day, right?"

"Well, I had a _little_ to do with it," muttered Joe almost inaudibly, feeling miffed. But he had taken _action_. That was the key - and he had his handcuffs ready.

"Why," laughed Bert. "That's Joan Norton's little dog. That is, he was until she died. Seems like he's sort of an orphan, what with her nephew not wanting him and Joan's sister Ruth taking over the farm."

Al hauled himself to his feet with Joe tugging on his belt. "Well, whatever, can we go see the Doc now?" Al said.

Joe stared at the costume Al was wearing. "I think you and me and your dad need to having a talk," he said.

"Sure," Said Al. "This," he waved at the get-up of rags, "is just a costume; a bit of excitement."

"Ok for now." Joe looked him straight in the eye. "But there might be a matter of public safety, disturbing the peace, scaring people?"

"Oh Joe," laughed Bert. "We can sort this, later!"

"Right," said the plucky constable. He poked fingers at Al and Bert. "But, I'm keepin' my eyes on you!"

"Who's your GP?" interrupted Ari. "Where's his office?"

"He's straight down the way here, not far at all," added Al. "Doctor Martin Ellingham."

Mick McCready stood and brushed at the seat of his pants. "So, can anyone explain to me what a man in armor was doing up here? Scared the crap out of me!"

The fourteen-year-old Alan and Bert Large looked long and hard at each other. "No!" they roared together.

000

Sleep, blessed sleep. I loved sleep. For when I slept, unless I dreamt of being locked in that dark place under our stairs, the horrors of boarding school or the past pain of losing Louisa Glasson, I was full of rest, and my mind was vacant of the analytical thoughts that flew about all the time. I had been sleeping and now was resting, with Louisa cuddled into me like a rabbit in a pile of straw.

Somewhere in the background, though, came a sound over the rush of wind outside and the ocean waves; an excited babble of voices. Then all hell broke loose when some stupid sod started to pound on the surgery door and ring the bell.

"Oh, God!" I groaned.

"Martin?" Louisa yelled out and sat bolt upright, her eyes wide in shock, the sheet and blanket falling away.

I could not but help admire her beautiful naked body. I groaned once more at the interruption. Now yelling was added to the din.

"Doc? Doc Martin? Bit of an emergency out here!" It was Bert Large's voice.

"Doctor Ellingham? Police matter as well!" came another.

"That was Joe Penhale!" I exclaimed. "I think the wonderful residents of Portwenn, _your_ lovely village that I _love_ ever so much, have a surprise for me." I reached out a hand to Louisa. "Come on, you too. Get dressed. I may need your help."

"Martin! I can't be held responsible for the rest of the village!" she told me sharply. But she swung her legs from the bed – no, _our_ bed.

"Yes, I know. Sorry. Sorry for that." I leapt from the warm bed, wincing as my bare feet hit the cold slate floor. Bloody idiots! The pounding continued at the surgery door.


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter 32 – Casualty Ward

Martin threw on his boxers, his dirty suit trousers, and his wrinkled shirt. He was stuffing his feet into socks and Oxfords as the beating on the door went on. "The nerve of some people! Good God!"

I pulled on my blue pyjamas as he struggled with his laces. "Martin! It must be serious or they'd not come."

Martin looked up at me with disgust on his face. "Well, why didn't they call the surgery, then?"

I fastened my yellow and white dressing gown and bit my lip. "Maybe… because I turned the ringer off? Both phones. And you remember I turned off your mobile as well?"

"Why in Heaven's name did you do that?" He stood up, his face all red, as he shouted.

My lip took quite a beating from my front teeth before I spoke. "Perhaps…"

"Well?"

"Well… I thought we should have _some_ privacy - for once, at least!"

"Oh… right," he answered softly. He looked away then back at me with a tiny grin. "Good idea and I agree." He crossed the room and hugged me and then added a kiss to my forehead. He let me go and then clattered down the stairs.

000

I opened the front door to see the most amazing sight. Al Large stood at the portal in some sort of ghastly costume while his father Bert stood beside him helping to hold another man, who was muddy and had a dazed look on his face. That one had handcuffs on his wrists.

PC Penhale was on the other side of the dazed man, smiling at me. He too had hands on the muddy man, as it was clear that Penhale had an actual prisoner, for once. "Doctor Ellingham," Joe said.

"Sorry to intrude Doc," said Bert," but we've had a bit of a rough and tumble up on the headland tonight." He pointed to Al. "Al here took a shovel blow to the head and shoulder!" He then cast fiery daggers at the muddy man. "This _one_ and that other bloke," he jabbed his head at another stranger, "were up there digging a hole, and seems like my Ghost Ramble interrupted their little party." He chuckled but then his voice turned serious. "Can we come in so you can do your medical thingy?"

I rolled my eyes and sighed at the sight of these people both known and unknown, as there were a goodly number of others clustered on the front terrace. "If you must," I sighed.

"Ok." Joe Penhale looked sharp at the muddy man. "Our GP will look you over… and no funny business!"

The muddy man's lip twitched but his eyes stayed without focus. He allowed himself to be pushed into my waiting room, which rapidly filled up with a huge clot of people, men and women, a teenage boy and a young girl.

I yelled at them. "It looks like Paddington Station in here!"

"Doc, we can discuss train stations later, don't you think?" said Joe. "Why don't you get to the medical issues?"

I did not like PC Penhale directing my actions, but he was correct for once. "Right!" I clapped my hands to cut through the hubbub. "Now who are the injured?" As I yelled this Louisa came down the stairs, her pale pretty face framed by her dark hair. What I would give to boot this lot out into the street and go back to bed with her – a bed which most definitely was now _our_ bed.

Bert, Al, and Joe, as well as the others, gazed up at her as she descended like a vision from the heavens.

"Bert? Al? Joe?" Louisa asked in a startled voice. "Martin, what's happened?"

I clapped my hands again to quiet the many answers thrown out, filling the air from too many throats. "Quiet! Shush!" when the crowd quieted I managed to get a word in edgewise. "The injured are?"

"These three," said Joe, pointing to Al, who was holding his shoulder, the muddy man, who I now saw was bleeding onto my floor from a hand wound, and the other stranger who was a young blondish man, who rubbed his backside and who had a pronounced limp.

"And me," added a fiftyish buxom woman, with brown hair. She held out her arm where a slow seep of blood dripped from between her hand where she gripped it. "Seems I've been stabbed!" her face was pale and grew paler as I looked at her.

Bert blanched. "Ari! My God! How'd that happen?"

The woman sat on a chair and grimaced, holding her arm. "Well when that dog…"

"Buddy," said Joe.

"Yes… when Buddy attacked Derrick his knife sliced into my arm. I tended to his hand, where the dog had bitten his fingers and palm." The woman leaned back against the chair. "Bleeding a bit more than I thought," she muttered than slumped slowly to the side onto the chair next.

"My God!" yelled out Bert who rushed to her side. "Doc! Do something!"

I caught Louisa's eye who was frozen in place on the step. "Louisa, call Morwenna please. Have her come here. Tell her I have four patients to treat stat!"

Louisa shook herself. "Stat, Martin?"

"Means immediately." I told her. She rushed back upstairs and I could not help but notice the gaze of every male in the room as she took the stairs two at a time, her derriere well outlined by the thin dressing gown. "Ahem," I cleared my throat. "Now the rest of you, if you are not injured, buzz off! Get out of my surgery! Now!" I clapped hands again for emphasis.

Bert looked up from the woman slumped on my chairs where he knelt by her side, holding her injured forearm in his meaty hands. "Here!" He tossed a set of keys to one of the men in the crowd. "Hardcastle! Take this lot to my place - the Large Restaurant. Brew up coffee, tea, cocoa - whatever. Anything there you want to eat or drink, do so. My treat!"

"Come on then! Everybody do as Bert says! Go on!" said the man and the people followed his instructions and slowly the room got much emptier. Although the teenage boy stayed behind.

I now turned my attention to the woman. Her pallor had grown and I saw blood begin to pool through Bert's fingers. I swallowed hastily as saliva flooded my mouth and nausea roiled my gut. Not again! Ignoring my own symptoms, I added my hands to Bert's on her arm. "Right. Let's get her into the consulting room. Joe, can you help?"

"Sure Doc!" he said and looked at the man in handcuffs. "I'm just going away for a few moments and when I get back, you'll be right here. Right!" he said this through gritted teeth.

The man in handcuffs nodded numbly. "Yeah. Whatever. Hey Doc! You think you could look at my hand next? And my head is killing me too! Couple of pills, maybe?"

"We'll see," I said then helped Bert, Joe, and the boy half carry and half drag the fainted woman into my surgery.


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter 33 – Forearm

"Who are you?" I asked the boy, who looked around the surgery at the green walls after we deposited the limp woman on the exam table. I'd directed my fellow bearers to put her feet at the head of the bed, so I could elevate them.

"Alan. I'm Alan," he said.

"Well then Alec…"

"Alan!" the boy called out.

"Right… Alan. Grab that cart," I pointed to my equipment cart. "Wheel it over here. No wait! Wash your hands well first." I couldn't get to it as in an attempt to do so, the woman almost slid off the couch to the floor. Bert was nearly useless in holding the woman as his hand was firmly clamped over the wound in her arm, which was still oozing blood. Joe struggled to hold her on the couch meanwhile, rolling his eyes as blood dripped onto the floor.

"Sure," he said and used a liberal amount of soap and water to wash. "Like that?"

"Adequate. Now dry them on those paper towelettes, then bring the cart here."

He did and used a dry towel to isolate his now clean hands from the cart handle. He parked the cart at my right elbow. "That good?"

"Yes. How old are you?"

"Fourteen. Almost fifteen. I'm a Scout as well. Got my basic and advanced first aid awards."

"Good. Joe, can you elevate the foot of the bed? There's a lever there."

Joe hooked thumbs over his belt. "Sorry, Doctor. I'd better get to my prisoners!" he said then left.

Bert looked up at me. "Good old Joe. Once a copper, always a copper," he said with sarcasm.

I ignored his words. "Alan, you take the lever there, pull it out and crank." The boy did as I asked and head of the couch tilted up so the woman's feet were higher than her head. "Good. Stop. Can you take that belt there, and pass it over her waist? Yes… buckle it. Not too tight." Now the patient was secure enough.

Alan left and brought back a clean towel from the counter. "Mr. Large? When I say, _now_ lift your hand then clamp it back onto this towel on top of the knife wound. Ready?"

"A little doc in training, are we?" said Bert but he followed directions.

"Good," I told the boy.

"Now doc, get your gloves on," said the child. "Your turn."

I was unused to following directions from anyone, let alone a teenager, but so far his basic first aid skills were useful. And besides hadn't I just been following Louisa's quite direct instructions upstairs for the past two hours? "Right," I answered. The gloves went on in a snap on clean hands, I took up the scissors and snipped away at the woman's coat sleeve.

It was the work of a few seconds to split the coat, cardi and shirt beneath, and all the while, from under Bert Large's thick hand and the towel, blood dripped. I gulped a little. I pulled his hand and the towel back to get a look at the wound. It was five centimeters long and it gaped open like a mouth on the upper surface of her forearm, with yellow fat protruding. It appeared to be a couple of centimeters deep and I had to look away for a moment as the sight of the brachioradialis muscle, tinged with gray streaks, flashed into view as Bert slightly shifted her arm.

"Doc?" asked Bert. "If you could do me the favor of not losing your dinner onto me, I would surely appreciate it. I thought you was over that blood thing?"

"I am," I told him and took deep calming breath. The words of the deconditioning CD flowed into my head. 'You are in the operating theater, and the patient is prepped for surgery, and all are ready for you to perform.' But this was no operating theater, the woman was not prepped, and I was being scrutinized by a former plumber and a Boy Scout.

"Right." I had repaired Eleanor Glasson's strangulated hernia on this very exam table, with only Morwenna Newcross assisting and had no trouble at all. So why did this affect me so? And speaking of which, where _was_ Morwenna? Louisa went to call her minutes before. Just as I thought this, the door flew open and Louisa barged in, now dressed in a jogging suit and trainers, her glossy hair pulled back into a ponytail.

"Martin, what do you want me to do?" She looked down at Bert as he acted as a human bandage. "Bert."

Bert looked her up and down. "Louisa. Nice to uhm… see you." Then he smiled. "Always is."

"That's enough of that!" I roared.

"Martin!" She punched my arm.

I ducked my head. "Sorry. Bert do you know if this woman is suffering any blood disorders, diseases, HIV, etc? Is she on blood thinners or the like?"

"No," said the body on the table. A bleary eye looked up at me from the couch. "Blood pressure med. Takes me right down sometimes."

"Yes, that might explain your faint," I told her. "You have a deep stab wound of the arm. More of a lateral slice."

"I can _feel_ that doctor. Ellingham is it?" said the woman. "Name's Ariadne Aster. Fifty four, generally good health, the BP thing, post-menopausal," she blushed up at Bert. "mostly. No HRT. And I am a former police nurse."

"You fainted," Bert told her. "But old Doc Martin will set you to rights. Right, Doc?" he added, staring at me in an odd mixture of confidence and concern.

I turned to Louisa. "Did you call Morwenna?"

"She's on her way. But she was across the village at a friend's house. Should I call 9-9-9?" Portwenn's head teacher asked me.

"Not yet. No major injuries, I don't think. Not as bad as a car crash." I sighed. "Push that cart over here, Louisa. And put on gloves. You'll assist."

"Oh. Right." She bit at her lip.

I looked with pride at Louisa Glasson. She was willing to follow my lead, just as I had hers a bit ago. A bit ago… upstairs.

I inhaled deeply and smelled sweat, dirt, blood, the scent of kenzo flower from Louisa, as well as other smells of the human condition.

"Ok, then. Just do as I say," I told her, which closely echoed what she had said to me a half hour back.

Louisa faintly smiled as she snapped surgical gloves onto her hands. "Whatever you say, Martin."

I started to tell her what drawer on the cart to open, when it sounded like all hell broke out in the waiting room in a mixture of thumping, banging, and shouts calling for help.

"In God's name! Now what?" I shouted.


	34. Chapter 34

Chapter 34 – Head

Martin ran to the door, jerked it open and I jumped back or he'd have knocked me down as he hurried past.

"Your Doc Martin," said Bert, "always on the go!"

"_My_ Doc Martin, Bert?" I relied with some humor.

"Yes, Louisa! _Your_ Doc Martin. After what happened today, with Mrs. Tishell… well… I heard tell that he's staying - with you and the baby!"

I nodded. News does travel fast in the village. "Yes, he is… that is… we are…"

Bert cleared his throat and turned his attention to the woman on the exam couch. "Ari, Louisa Glasson here is Doc Martin's lady. She is out head teacher as well."

Ariadne (such an interesting name) looked up at me blearily. "Hello. Call me Ari. I'd shake your hand, but…"

"You just take it easy. I'll go see… what's happening," I said to her. "Bert you'll keep pressure on her wound?"

"Of course!" he said. "Alan, you go out there with Miss Glasson. Keep her safe!"

I heard furious grunts and oaths from the other room where a struggle seemed to be playing out. "You think I need protecting Bert?"

"No. But _something_ is going on!" Bert replied. "I'll stay right here with Ari, won't I my sweet?" he asked the wounded lady.

Ari patted his hand with her right one, while Bert clamped her left arm with a towel that was growing redder and wetter by the minute.

The teenager, Alan and I looked out into the waiting room. There was a tussle going on, that was for sure. The man wearing handcuffs was rolling on the floor, one moment on the bottom of the pile, the next on the top. The pile also consisted of Joe Penhale, Martin, and the other man – the one who was limping when they crowded into the cottage.

The man in handcuffs was alternately throwing people off himself, or being thrown down, as the four men wrestled away on the hard slate floor. They occasionally managed to come to their knees, but by and large the wrestling match continued on the floor, banging into walls and chairs.

Al Large sat off to the side with a bemused look, throwing out comments like "Good one, Joe," "Doc, you almost had 'em there," and "Oh, that's gonna' hurt!" at a particularly loud or sudden blow.

I didn't see many punches, but it all looked very tangled and jumbled. They were all shouting, grunting with strain, and generally making a loud riot through grunts, snarls, words and curses while writhing, twisting, and pulling arms and legs.

"What do you think we should do?" asked the boy.

I backed away and said "From the looks of it, stay out of it!"

Martin swung his head to me as he was putting a head lock onto the struggling man. "Louisa, surgical tape!"

I ducked back into surgery and pulled a roll off Martin's procedures cart. I remembered this type of thing from when my dad's friend Jonathan tied Martin, Pauline, and me to chairs in the surgery for his ill-planned safe cracking job.

I hefted the roll of tape and Alan caught my eye.

"Feet!" the kid yelled out as he dove onto the pile and grabbed the man's legs.

With a swift motion I managed to get a turn or two of sticking tape onto his ankles and in a tug-of-war, strap them to a waiting room chair. The man's struggles slowed and he froze when he knew he was caught.

"Bloody sod!" yelled Joe at the man. "Try to escape? From my arrest?"

"You're lucky I tripped him, right officer?" said the other stranger.

Joe rubbed his face where a black eye seemed to be growing. "Thanks for that."

"Mick, you fool! Why'd you trip me?" the manacled man yelled out.

"Where would you go, Derrick?" the other answered. "Handcuffs and all? Run all the way back to Falmouth?" He looked at me. "I'm Mick. This," he said and prodded the man on the ground, "is Derrick."

"Shut it Mick! And sod off while you're at it!" said the restrained one, now sitting up as well as he could.

Martin dragged himself from the pile. "Joe, you are sitting on my foot!"

"Sorry Doc!" said Joe.

"Martin, are you alright?" I asked.

He bobbed his head at me and then pushed Joe away who was trying to help him stand. "Yes. Get off! Brilliant idea Louisa, for the tape around the ankles!"

"Why thank you, Martin. Alan helped. Now if you're done playing policeman, can you get back in there and suture up Ari? She's still bleeding."

Martin smoothed his shirt, now doubly mussed. "Yes."

Martin had not taken two steps when Mick called out. "Doctor! Derrick's gone all queer!"

The one named Derrick sat stiffly, propped against a chair with his ankles taped to another, hands manacled in front, but he was unmoving with a blank look on his face.

Martin looked at the man. "Oh God!" He waved a hand in front of his face, and got no response, not even a blink. Martin dug fingers into the man's neck for a few seconds. Then he poked the man in the ribs. "No response. Let's lay him back down."

"What is it?" I asked.

"Has he had these before? Does he take any medications? Drugs?" Martin asked Mick.

Mick shook his head. "No drugs, I mean no medicine. But I've seen him do this before. Just freeze up, get real quiet then, doesn't last long."

Martin grunted after laying the man down. He had grabbed a cushion from Morwenna's chair and placed it under his head. "Look's like an absence seizure – also called petit mal seizure He'll come around in a moment."

Like magic, the man blinked and yawned and started to curse at us. "Who you looking at?"

Martin still knelt at his side. "You have had a seizure, possibly from hyperventilating." He ran his hands over the man's head. "But you also have a bump on the back of your head. Still the petit mal may be from that blow on the head you got."

"Ouch," said the man as Martin touched his head. "That's where bright boy here whacked me with something."

Martin pulled a penlight from his pocket and waved the lit tip at his eyes. "Follow this. Now my finger." He moved his finger back and forth and then up and down. "Pupils are the same size and reactive. But I think you have a mild concussion, as well as your other issue. You'll need a neurological workup. What day is it? What year?"

"Uhm… Thursday? And 2011." said the man.

"No it's Friday," replied Martin. "Have a headache, you said?"

The man on the floor nodded.

"Concussion looks like." He examined the man's hand wrapped in a bloody kerchief. "Dog bite as well."

"That bloody little white dog did that, just when the copper coshed me."

"Well you were threatening the lady with a knife, Mr. Mann! And you were robbing the rest of us!" said Penhale defensively. Joe looked at me and Martin apologetically. "He was! Honest! I had to hit him!"

"You may have compromised this fellow's brain, Joe. Not that there was likely much to begin with." Martin said. "Wadebridge can evaluate him. Just don't hit him over the head again."

"So," started Joe, "you mean he might end up like me? My issues… and..?"

"Unlikely," said Martin, but the look on his face showed he didn't believe what he was saying. "Now, if you are all done making me a warder, can I please get back to being a doctor? Louisa, if you please." He pointed to the surgery door and we started to step there, just as the front door flew open and Morwenna barged in very wide-eyed.

"Doc?" she said running her pretty eyes over the people, the disarranged furniture, and the general mess. "What's going on?"

"Morwenna. Good. Please help Al out of that ridiculous costume so I can examine his shoulder, which he says is injured. I…" Martin looked at me, "and Louisa will be in surgery." He held the door for me and we went to tend to Ari.


	35. Chapter 35

Chapter 35 – Fingers

"How's it going Doc?" asked Bert.

"It's fine," I said.

"Well how much longer?" he asked.

The edges of the wound were coming nicely together with the tension of the mattress stitches I was putting in with 5-0 sutures. The ugly arm wound was now down to a length of 2 centimeters, and I was stuffing fatty tissue back inside that had been avulsed by the knife. I had pondered if I should detach this bit or place it approximately in the original location. I ignored Bert and kept working, having decided to reintroduce the tissue to the arm. One advantage of my years in vascular surgery was that the patients were unconscious and I never people prodding me with my questions. Even the medical students were trained to be silent pairs of hands, unless invited to speak. But just now…

"You _are_ about done?" Bert added. "I'm certain that my Al needs some looking after, too. If you're going to keep poking about inside Ari's arm, well, maybe we should call…"

"Shush!" I shouted at the fat man. I shook forceps towards him, to where he sat overflowing my desk chair, which he'd likely damage due to his girth and weight. "Shut it!"

"Just wondering," he put in.

"Martin?" asked Louisa timidly. "Do you want Morwenna to help?" she shifted nervously from foot to foot. "Would it be better… if she helped you? After all she did assist when you operated on my mum."

I looked at her lovely eyes, framed by her dark hair above and the surgical mask below. "No, almost done. Just keep stabilizing the arm. Ignore Bert. You're doing quite well."

Ari laughed aloud. "Ignore Bert Large?" Hah! I'd like to see if anyone can do that! He is a bit…"

"Noticeable," I said.

"Yes," the woman said. "Still, he is nice, don't you think?"

I curled my lip which she did not see under my mask.

"Yes," answered Louisa. Her eyes swung to mine apprehensively. "Well, usually. I mean, he's always been nice to me." Her voice dropped. "You mean that?"

"Yes." I looked at her. "Oh? I didn't know."

"It's true," said Louisa.

I placed one last stitch, pulled it firmly to match the tissue edges, and tied it off. I ran my finger tip over the seam, now held securely by fifteen mattress stitches. "There. Done" I put down the needle holder. I looked over at my patient's face. "I think that will do. I should examine this on Monday to ensure there is no tissue necrosis. These stitches make a tight joint, but may compromise blood flow at the juncture. You're staying in the village? I'll write a script for antibiotics and painkillers. We'll have to arrange to get that filled in Wadebridge or Truro."

"Yes. I'm staying here." her eyes flicked towards Bert. "At the Oceanside. But I had planned on leaving tomorrow."

"Oh?" said Bert. "Bit pricey that. If you need someplace to stay… ahem… we do have a spare room, over the restaurant."

"It's alright, Bert. I've got a bit put away. A few more days will be alright." She said. "Not to worry."

Louisa's head swiveled from Bert to Ari and back, stripped off her gloves and face mask. "I'm sure… well," her eyes swung up to mine. "The village is quite nice. Wouldn't you say so, Martin?"

I had just bound up the arm in sterile gauze pads, a wrap of more gauze and a layer of sticking tape. My bloody gloves went to the bin and I pulled my mask down. "The village?"

Louisa brightened. "Yes, Portwenn. Didn't you say just earlier there, were certain… attractions, to being here?" She smiled broadly. "That you were happy here?"

I looked over the exam table at Louisa Glasson and managed to keep a jeer from my face. "Well…"

Bert slapped his leg and stood. "This has been a day of miracles then! Doc Martin says that being in Portwenn makes him happy? Ha-ha! Bless my soul, I'm going to circle this date on the calendar and every year I will lift a glass to remember it. Doc Martin happy!"

Louisa's eyes crinkled up and she smiled as she took my hand. "Sorry, Martin," she said softly. "I hope you don't mind."

I stared hard at this lovely woman, now holding my hand. Little would I know when I arrived in Portwenn, a veritable purgatory and an escape from the wreck of my professional and surgical life in London, what I would find here. Odd and clannish people, with the most absurd ideas of hygiene, dietary habits, and proprieties. Beautiful white washed cottages, all with leaking plumbing. The smell of kippers cooked with a fried egg atop. Coarse brown bread which if left until day-old could break a tooth with a single nibble. Barmy police constables, narrow lanes, and salty fishermen who'd drop tools at the sound of trouble to help out. And somehow, somehow, they had taken in the uptight, rude, too factual and brusque, refugee of a GP who was afraid of the sight of blood.

I bent slightly toward the exam couch and inhaled deeply. Yes; I smelled blood, the odd greasy smell of human fat, the clean starchy odor of gauze and the slightly petrochemical smell of surgical tape. I had missed surgery. But it no longer held the satisfaction it once held. Cutting and sewing pieces of flesh like a tailor! What of it? Isn't vaccinating a little child, a baby, and protecting it for a lifetime just as important? Or diagnosing malignant hypertension and slowing the onslaught equally critical?

Louisa's hand lay gently on my hand. Her fingers were slender, soft, cool, and so much smaller than my rather largish and blunt fingers. Voluntarily I shifted my fingers and grasped hers. Her fingers interlaced with mine and I swear I felt an electric jolt from her skin to mine.

I raised my face towards Louisa and my mouth opened. "No, Louisa. I don't mind."

I then shifted my gaze to my patient, who Bert was now helping to sit up. "Portwenn is… ahem… well…" I felt the earth shift just a little. "Portwenn is…" I looked into Louisa's eyes, which gave me a wary look. "Is…"

"Yeah, Doc?" interrupted Bert Large.

I felt my eyes smile a tiny bit at Louisa and I saw her relax in response as my fingers squeezed her hand. "Portwenn is fine."


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter 36 – Hand

Bert Large and I helped Ariadne from the exam couch and Louisa steadied the woman as we walked her to the waiting room. There she fell heavily onto a chair and smiled at Joe, Al, Morwenna and the two reprobates who had started this mischief, well at least most of it I gathered.

"I'm alright now!" she exclaimed to their questioning eyes. She held out her bandaged arm. "See? Just like in hospital or clinic. Fixed!" She looked up at me with a grateful look. "Thank you Doctor Ellingham."

"At last. _Someone_ who calls me by my name," I murmured.

Louisa nudged me in the ribs and it hurt. "Martin!" she hissed under her breath.

Morwenna had tugged the foul, smelly and filthy coverall covered in rags and bits from Al Large who sat stiffly on a chair with a hangdog expression.

"Doc!" She said brightly. "I cleaned the gash behind Al's ear and put a bandage on it. Not much blood, nor was it a gash. More of a shallow scrape, sorta'." She torqued Al's head around so I could see a neat bandage covered in tape.

"Where'd you get the supplies? You didn't come into the surgery," I said.

"Oh. Well, I used my first-aid kit. I keep one in the desk. Bottom drawer." She grinned at me. "Just in case, you know?"

"How's the arm?" I made to go over to Al and the man called Mick called to me.

"Doc? You think you could take a look at me? I fell over a rock or sumpthin up there, and it hurts like hell. Pardon the expression." He rubbed his left hip and gluteus maximus. "Pains are really bad. Getting worse."

"Maybe you should, Doc," added Joe Penhale. "I should likely get these two over to Truro. I called when you was stichin' on the lady, and they said I could take them over there. There's a nice warm cell waiting for these two." He dropped his eyes. "After the jail doc sees them."

"Well what about my hand!" yelled the handcuffed and restrained one.

I looked quite hard at him as he had swatted me hard across the back several times in the scuffle. "Do you feel like you have been ill treated by me?" I bellowed at him.

The man sniffed. "No, just been feeling a bit forgotten is all."

I knelt and took his bitten left hand and stripped off the kerchief.

"I did that," said Ari. "Doesn't look too bad now," she added at the sight of the pale hand.

There were several puncture wounds which were oozing, but no torn flesh. I stood, went to the consulting room and returned. I had snapped on new gloves and brought back two small bottles, a basin, and a roll of gauze.

I put two fingers into his palm. "Squeeze my fingers."

He did and followed several other motions I made him do. "Seems normal. No nerve or tendon damage. Just the punctures." I opened the bottles and held one out. "Hold out your hand." He did and I squirted a liberal spray of saline over the member to wash any foreign material into the basin I held below his injured member.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" he screamed. "What is that?"

"Saline – salt water." I looked at the punctures. "I don't see any dirt in them. Still." I held out the other bottle. "Again."

"Not saline is it? That hurt…"

"No. Hold it out. Come on!" I yelled.

He held it out once more and I squirted a strong solution of hydrogen peroxide directly into his wounds.

He screamed even more that time. "Officer!" he yelled after he got his breath. "I want this man arrested!"

"What for?" replied Joe.

"Cruelty! You saw what he did! I'll have you in court!" the man shouted at me. "What kind of a bloody butcher have you got workin' here in this stink hole of a village?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Cruelty? Really?" I rocked back on my heels. "You know what gangrene looks like? The affected limb loses blood supply, then turns black and green while bits start to fall off. Always means an amputation. You might even survive the disease without treatment. But I don't think so," I added sarcastically. I took his arm and with my other hand made a sawing motion at his elbow. "They'd likely make the first-stage amputation here. Might have to do a full disarticulation of the entire arm, if it gets that bad. Then there is the threat of rabies as well…"

"Oh my God!" the man yelled back. "You saying I'm going to lose my arm?" His eyes were white in fear and trail of spittle fell from his fleshy lips.

"No! That's why I treated your wound. But if I hadn't…" I said and made the sawing motion once more.

Mick laughed. "Come on Derrick! Be a man! Oh that's right! That is your last name! Mann. Em, aa, en, en," he spelled it out. "Yelled like a little girl, he did."

I bandaged the hand loosely. "Must let air get to the wounds, so they heal from the bottom. Any sign of seepage, unless it is green and smelly, is acceptable." I went back to surgery and returned to the prisoner with two syringes.

"What's that for, Doc?" asked Morwenna timorously.

"Antibiotics and a tetanus shot. Dogs have all sorts of lovely bacteria in their mouths." I peeled his jacket and filthy shirt back at the neck, swabbed the skin with alcohol and injected the drugs into his shoulder. "Joe, you'll need to catch the dog that did this. It will have to be examined to ensure its not carrying rabies. Can you do that?"

"Maybe I _am_ just a bloody dog catcher," muttered Joe sadly. "But I will do that."

"And the Doc _is_ quite good!" shouted Morwenna. She shook her finger at the man. "So don't you go puttin' him down! He saved my grand-dad!"

Al laughed. "Course he can be a little rough around the edges…" he caught my eye. "But he does get the job done. Right Louisa?"

Bert squeezed Ari's shoulder. "Fixed you too, didn't he?" He turned his fat face to Derrick. "And I'd appreciate _you_ not bad mouthin' our GP. Or I might have to sit on you… once more," he added slowly at the end.

Joe stood there grinning and gave me the ok hand signal. "Me and the Doc, why… we're the dynamic duo, aren't we?"

I groaned at their exhibit of Portwenn support. I sighed and started to say something, but Louisa butted in.

"Yes, yes. Doctor Ellingham is quite handy to have around, or so we all think." She swept the room with her eyes and more nods and smiles followed. She addressed Derrick next. "And he did save your hand, right?"

Derrick gulped. "Whatever."

"So just how handy _is_ the Doc, Louisa?" asked Al. "You're stayin' in Portwenn, I understand?"

I faced Louisa and those blue-gray eyes lit up as I stared into them. I scowled over at Al. "None of _your_ business, Al…"

Louisa cut me off in mid-sentence as she took my arm. "Yes, he is handy. Quite!" She leaned over and pecked me on the cheek. I was too startled to react quickly enough as she snuggled up to me holding my arm very tightly.

"So, Doc!" asked Bert chuckling at the scene.

"Oh God," I grumbled.

"Yes, Bert?" asked Louisa.

"Well, I can see that you've got _yourselves_ sorted, now what about my Al?"

"And me?" asked Mick.

Louisa patted my hand and she let me go. "Duty calls, Martin. Get to it," she said smiling.


	37. Chapter 37

Chapter 37 – Hip

I pulled my hand away from hers and stepped back. Louisa stood just next to me, the most dazzling thing in the room, and for two pence I'd throw the others out into the darkness so we could… talk… some more. I was staring at her and I suppose my expression must have been quite mysterious.

"Martin?" she asked. "Did I bother you with the kiss?" She hissed and tucked her lower lip between her teeth.

"No!" I nearly shouted. "It was…" a quick look showed we had a rapt audience. I ducked my head then looked straight down into Louisa's eyes. "It was…" I paused. Another look away from her. "It was…" I cleared my throat. "Actually, quite… uhm… _excellent_."

Our audience gave out gasps and Al blew a wolf whistle, which, all too unfortunately, broke the spell.

I fixed them all with an annoyed look. "Ahem, Mick, think you can walk into my surgery? I'll examine you next."

Joe looked hard at the man. "No funny business from you! Unlike your friend here!" he said and poked Derrick on the shoulder.

"Hey!" Derrick yelled.

"You shut it," Joe told him, and wonder of wonders, he did.

The man named Mick got to his feet unsteadily and in three limping steps came to me, where I took his arm. "Go through!" I told him.

Louisa looked askance. "Need me, Martin? I was thinking I should brew up tea. It's cold out and these people…" she waved her arm, "must be chilled."

I nodded. "Yes. Good idea." I helped the limping Mick into surgery and closed the door.

As the door swung shut I could hear Bert Large. "God in heaven, Louisa! Is that Doc Martin or has he been replaced by some alien creature? What have you done to the man?" Luckily the door blotted out her answer of anymore sleazy comments.

Good question. What has Louisa done to me? And for that matter what has James Henry done to me as well? To Doctor Martin Ellingham?

I breathed deeply and felt a million years younger because of what happened today. In that respect what that drug-demented Sally Tishell did for us was a Godsend. By stealing James she had forced Louisa and I to work together, both as a team and as a couple.

What had Louisa said to Joe in the car? Oh yes, she said, 'I'll get upset later. I'm saving my energy for getting my baby… our baby back.' And that had made all the difference. My admission of love to Louisa and to Mrs. Tishell, as bizarre as it was, had opened my mouth and what I most felt and knew, deep inside me, _had_ to come out.

I watched Mick, the limping man, hobble towards the exam couch so I rushed there and wiped the dirty sheet away where Ariadne had lain during her surgery. I tugged at the paper roll and covered the vinyl completely with a clean sheet. "Now, if you could just sit here on the edge and let your feet dangle? And drop your jeans, please."

Mick managed to sit up there, with his trousers at his ankles. "Sorry Doc, I can't bend to get at my shoelaces." Cursing, he swung his left buttock onto the table. "Like this?"

"Yes." I started at his feet, having pulled off his boots and smelly socks and tossed his jeans aside. I stared at his dirty toes. "Ever consider having a bath once in a while?" I sneered.

"Sorry, Doc. We was living sort of rough on the moor, in a house. No one had lived there for quite a while, from the looks of the place." He sighed. "I'm awful sorry about…"

"Shush! Let me do the talking. Other than the pain in your hip, any other pains, ailments, ghastly diseases?"

"Just my hip and my back, Doc. I was beaten while in jail." He winced and pointed towards his back about at the level of his left kidney. "Hit me with a truncheon, just there. They thought I might lose my kidney for a while there."

"You've been in jail."

"That's what I said."

"Well, I don't care about that. Now to that hip." I tested his foot reflexes and patellar responses. All normal there but when I pushed my blunt pin along his left outer thigh there was little response, in spite of my pushing on the skin very vigorously. "Feel that?"

"No, not really. Sort of fuzzy – prickly."

I nodded. "Can you hold out your arms to the sides and twist to the right and left? As far as you can?"

"Sure." He did so and there was a marked difference when he twisted to his right side.

"Can you move further?"

"Well, I can Doc, but it really hurts like hell if I do! Maybe the hip is playing up with it…"

"Shush! Put your arms down. Sit up straight, if you can." I explored his back under his dirty vest and shirt. There was a distinct bulge near his third thoracic vertebra. I push on it. "This hurt?"

"Cripes! Owww! Course that hurts!" He almost sobbed. "That's where that sod of a jailer drove his knee into my back as well!"

His left glute, what I could see of it, looked very bruised; a dark purple already. I pointed. "That where you fell?"

"Yeah." He craned his head around. "Must have landed on a rock, I guess."

"Did you fall or were you pushed?"

He started chewing on a dirty knuckle. "Well, I was holding a shovel. I'd been digging a hole, you see, when that lot showed up in the fog. And then that Al fella appeared like the monster from the black lagoon, and there was this other one dressed as a knight…"

"Stop that!" I yelled. "Your hands are filthy! Like I said…"

"Yeah. Take a bath. You said that already Doc."

I helped him lie on the exam couch face down and now the bulge was more prominent. "I think you have a partially herniated disc in your back. It is compressing the nerve that runs to your leg and hip. Along with this rather large bruise, it is no wonder that you are limping. It will get worse."

"Great! Off to jail and lie on a rock hard cot and …"

"No. I'd expect you and your pal need to be in the infirmary. You may need surgery." I went to the cabinet, unlocked it, and took out syringes, a bottle of cortisone, and painkiller. "I am going to inject cortisone into the vertebral joint, which may help to shrink this injury. I'll also give you a local painkiller, in the back as well."

"Will it heal me Doc?"

"No. But it might help." I busied myself swabbing the areas for injection, using plenty of alcohol and germicidal cleaner. "This might sting," I said. "Don't move, now." I jabbed him with the painkiller and he yelped. "Sorry."

"Whew. Jeeze. So that damage back there…" he wiped his eyes and I gave him a tissue. "From that sod of a guard?"

"Likely. You need treatment by a neurologist – a nerve specialist – and perhaps an orthopedic surgeon as well to address this. But it is treatable."

"Thank God for that! Say, I think it's feeling better already. You some sort of miracle worker of somethin'?"

"No," I said. "I'm only a GP," and as I said it, I knew it was true. "Now the cortisone. If you thought that was bad… this will sting."

His yelp drowned out the murmur of voices in the waiting area and the whistling of the tea kettle in the kitchen.


	38. Chapter 38

Chapter 38 – Shoulder

I had Mick McCready - he'd finally told me his name - sprawled across my examination couch as the painkiller kicked in.

"Mick?" I shook his shoulder.

"Hmmm?" he murmured back groggily.

I peeled his droopy eyelid back. His eye rolled. "You're down for the count."

"Sorry, Doc." The man shook his head slowly side to side. "Haven't eaten a lot lately. Whew. Just layin' here and then the drug helped my back… wow… so what about my bum?" He patted his left hip gingerly.

"You'll live. I think the fall up on the moor has aggravated your bulging disc and has affected the nerve to your leg. The hip," I pointed to the bruise visible under his wretched boxers, "your… left buttock, is only bruised. I'll write a note for PC Penhale to take to the jail medical staff, for your friend too, so you can get proper treatment."

Mick yawned and sat up. "Guess I should get dressed."

"Good idea. I have one more patient to see."

Mick pulled his grubby clothes into place, but I had to help him quite a bit as he was so groggy. I straightened from lacing his brogans and the man was holding out his right hand. "Shake, Doc? I reckon' you've helped me a lot." He frowned. "Unless you don't want to."

I looked at his filthy fingernails and warily took his hand.

"Thanks Doc. I'm not a bad man. Just do bad things, sometimes."

"Swell," I said, afraid he was to use me as a father confessor.

"You see, I'm not that smart and get pulled into places where I shouldn't be. Was in the army for six years, then worked as a diesel mechanic and then got made redundant in the downturn. Derrick; well he and my dad go way back. He set me up for a job some time back. I didn't know I'd end up driving a lorry loaded with smuggled goods. The coppers were waiting for me. Seems there was quite a little trade going on in car parts and my lorry had a load of lifted air cleaners – about ten thousand of 'em." He sighed. "After the trial and I had turned a bit of testimony into knocking time off, I had to serve only three and a half years."

I nodded. "I see."

He sniffed. "No, you don't. Guess I'm going back to stir."

"Perhaps."

Mick slithered off the couch and I grabbed his outstretched hand as he stood. "Nothin' for it, Doc. Payin' the piper, that's all it is. I should be used to it."

I walked him to the door. "It doesn't have to be this way, you know. You can change. It is _possible_ to change. I know that." I gulped. "It is _conceivable_ that _you_ can as well."

Mick grinned, his face of pale skin and blue eyes now lighting up. "Yeah…we'll have to see, won't we? Thanks." He grabbed the doorframe and unsteadily went back to his custody enforced by PC Joe Penhale.

I guided him to a seat and saw Morwenna manipulating Al Large's shoulder. "Don't do that! Stay away from him. You're not qualified!" I waved her away.

"Oh come on Doc. I'm just testing the joint mobility." Morwenna gave me a level look. "I think he might have a sprain just here," she pointed to the shoulder.

I bristled at the teenager. "Oh? So where did you go to medical school?"

She laughed. "I can read, Doctor Ellingham! I'm might be uneducated, but I'm not dumb! Shoulder sprained – but not separated. You can't feel a click and there is no deformity. Some pain though."

I held up my hands and she mercifully ground to a halt. "Enough of this. Come Al, let's get you sorted by a professional."

I put my right hand on his acromioclavicular joint, where the collarbone is fixed to the shoulder blade by ligaments, took Al's upper arm with my left and by small degrees rotated his right arm. "This hurt?" I saw Al wincing as I moved his arm. "Say so - when it does."

"Not too bad… so far." Al started to say but yelped when I had pulled his arm to nearly vertical. "Ow!"

"Ah, yes," I lowered his arm and he cradled it with his other hand.

"Damn that hurt!" He wiped at his eyes while leaving his right in his lap. "That shovel… it was a shovel?" He looked across the room at Derrick and Mick.

Mick shook his head. "Wasn't me!"

Al grinned sardonically. "Thought so. Felt like it. Gave me this too." He pointed to the bandage by his right ear.

Bert gazed across the room . "So, Doc? What you think? Does Al have that shoulder sep whatzit? Is it what Morwenna said? Is the girl right?

Ari shushed at Bert. "Bert! Stop! _He_ is the _doctor_!"

Louisa came back into the room. "There's a kettle of hot tea ready in the kitchen and I've made coffee as well. Biscuits set out too." She looked around the room at the tableaux. "What's going on?"

I pointed to the surgery door. "Al, go through."

Joe laughed. "We was just listening to Morwenna diagnose Al's shoulder injury."

"Oh," said Louisa. "That right Martin?" she asked and her eyes twinkled as a smile played about her lips.

I ducked my head and cleared my throat. "We'll have to see. An x-ray should confirm that there is no ligament damage, or cracks in the scapula or clavicle. I really haven't done a proper exam."

"But am I right, Doc?" said Morwenna. "I borrowed one of your journals and it had this really interesting article on differential diagnosis of shoulder separation and strains. I sat up half the night getting through it. Why in the world would they put so many five and six syllable words in a medical article? Makes 'em hard to understand. But I puzzled it out. Lots of Latin words. So… am I right?" she asked brightly.

"Uhm, well," I stuttered, "as I said an x-ray…"

"Oh, come on, Doc! Give the girl some points for trying at least!" shouted Bert and he slapped his leg. "We're not playing at twenty questions! Just a simple yes or no! Is she right?"

I sighed. There'd be no living with a clerk who was playing at doctor. "Perhaps. Maybe…"

"Martin? Answer the girl!" Louisa urged me.

I looked at Louisa, the head teacher of Portwenn Primary, the mother of my son, my former betrothed, the woman I had made love to three times in the last three hours, and the woman that I loved dearly. There was also an offer I had made her that was still sitting on the table associated with my grandmother's engagement ring upstairs. She had worn it before, then returned it and I was hoping _and_ praying she would agree to wear it again.

I weighed the ramifications of answering the question. I snuck a quick glance at Morwenna's face and she stood there as if in ice, waiting raptly for my answer. The answer that might, just might, set her on a new path in her young life.

"Yes," my voice grated out. "She's right. Morwenna is quite correct."

Morwenna clapped her hands and covered her mouth. "Wow! Really? I was right?" She looked about the room. "I… was… right!" She started to dance about as if she'd just made the winning run on the cricket pitch.

The others laughed and cheered, while Louisa tried to make them stay quiet as James Henry was sleeping upstairs.

"Come on Al, go through." I pointed towards surgery ignoring the fun being made, partially at my expense.

He'd just started to move in that direction when the front door flew open and Pauline Lamb, my former office clerk, still oddly clothed and orange-clad, barged in with fire in her eyes while screeching at the top of her lungs. "Al! They told me at the restaurant that you got hurt!" She ran across the room, threw her bracelet bedecked arms about him, and planted a giant sloppy kiss on his dirty lips.


	39. Chapter 39

Chapter 39 – Alright

"Paul?" shouted Al Large as Pauline Lamb squeezed him tightly. Until the pain must have started up, as then he started to howl.

"Oh my God!" shouted Pauline. "What in the bloody hell have you lot been doing to _my_ boyfriend? If any of you hurt him…" she said and shook a clenched fist at the room, while Al huddled, under her other arm.

"Paul! Paul! I'm really… glad… to see you…" Al managed to get out through gritted teeth. "But don't press on my shoulder like that! It's a bit… NO… it hurts like hell!" He shrugged her away and curled around his injured arm.

Pauline's face fell and she dropped onto her knees, clasping his kneecaps. "Oh, baby! Aren't you glad to see me? I came all this way, there was a delay on the line from Bristol, the stupid cabby got a puncture, my mobile battery went flat, I had to hoof it the last mile, in the dark and the fog, all to see you, babe! Aren't you happy to see me? It's a _surprise_, damn it!" She looked from Al around the room, and I could see she was tearing up, her eyes clearly dampened, and also upset at the macabre scene in the waiting room, nearly filled with friends and strangers; both bandaged, beaten, and tied up.

Her face caught mine for an instant; with an obvious question in her eyes as she took in Martin's crumpled and dirty shirt, no tie, and no suit coat either, while I stood next to him in a wrinkled jogging set and trainers. I nodded at her and tried to smile, but I felt my eyes grow wet at the scene. Martin would call it sympathetic crying or some such in his medico-socio-judgmental tone, but whatever it was, it made me cry too.

I took hold of his arm and he gave me a look in reply that made my heart melt even more for the woman and for him. I patted his arm. "It's alright," I whispered, half to Martin and half to Pauline. "He's alright."

Martin must have heard me as he looked sharp at me and read my unspoken message. His head whipped about, facing the now crying Pauline, crouching at the feet of a rather sorry looking and beaten up Al. "Stop that!" Martin yelled and clapped his hands. "Enough! Al is fine or nearly so. He'll need rest, analgesics; a sling for a few days is all. Now stop that whinging, Pauline! There's been entirely enough drama for one evening."

"You're sure Doc? You're not telling me a st…story, are you?" Pauline stammered.

"Paul," called Al softly to her and he put his hand on her neck and stroked it. "I'm just a bit, well, worn is all. Now you stop your cryin'! I'm fine!" His scruffy face looked up at Martin's and he smiled.

The rumpled GP of Portwenn stood straighter. "Yes. You're fine. Will b… in a few days. We're all alright here."

I was quite proud of Martin that he didn't yell at Pauline even more. As Bert had asked me, 'What did you do to the Doc, Louisa?' More important, what had he done to me?

Other than the obvious things like pregnancy, months of separation, rejection, rudeness, shouting, he'd ignored me… but… here the man was, right next to me. He'd professed his love to me through that mad woman Mrs. Tishell, and I believed him; I _believed_ him. _He_ stayed. He _stayed_. No, wrong. He was _staying_.

Besides old girl, he _shaved_ before he came to bed. Now that must mean something. I grinned wickedly at the thoughts of what he did to me – and me to him – and we did together. Togther. That was the key. Another smile came to my face. And so luscious too.

I had waited so long for him to say nice things. I _had_ given up. I almost didn't believe him when he said that he loved me, in spite of the village, the villagers, and all the things here that upset him. I guess I still was in some shock today, having had our son kidnapped, rescuing him, and having Martin declare his love for me – and what followed after.

Mixed in my head too were the sights of Martin changing James' nappy while giving the wee baby a lecture on the digestive changes awaiting when we started him on solids, the protective way that he had put his hand over James' head today at the Castle, the assurances that we'd never send him away to boarding school. This was a new person – a _new_ Martin. He'd been through so much in his lonely life. Perhaps he had decided to stop running away and to finally start living.

"Yes!" I smiled at Pauline and the rest. "We're _alright_. We _are_ alright. Now!" I rubbed my hands together, crossed to Pauline and pulled her up to her feet. "What's say we have some tea? It's ready."


	40. Chapter 40

Chapter 40 - Today

Joe decided to stay in the reception room with Derrick, although Bert did suggest that he be unstrapped to have a bit of freedom.

"No, Bert, I know what you're sayin' only…" Joe protested.

"He might bolt; that it?" replied Bert.

Joe cast a suspicious eye at his prisoner, who flinched at the scrutiny.

"What you looking at? You thinkin' I'll run away?" Derrick said. "I've got handcuffs on, that woman strapped my legs to this chair, and I'm sittin' on my arse on this hard cold floor. You think I'll run?"

The plucky constable winked at me. "Nope. You won't."

"Joe! Don't you think he can at least be allowed to eat? As I said the tea is nice and hot." I held my fingers a fraction apart. "Give him a little chance? Bit harsh otherwise."

"Thanks mum," said the prisoner. "I would like cocoa, if you've got it."

Joe smiled at his charge. "I'll stay out here with Derrick." He crossed his arms and stared at the man.

I shook my head at our village jailer and protector and could only smile at Joe as he was so damn proud to have finally made an arrest, although he'd done that last year when our florist was caught shop lifting. Petty theft we all thought then and some laughed behind Joe's back. Yet here PC Penhale could finally feel like he had caught an actual criminal. Good for Joe, I thought and turned to the kitchen where Martin was standing grumpily aside as Morwenna handed out steaming cups of tea and coffee.

I went over to Martin as he seemed to be aghast at the crowd congregated in our kitchen. Our kitchen, yes that what I thought. Not a day before, if not hours, I'd not considered calling it that. Our kitchen – strange but true.

Bert was plying Ariadne with a chocolate biscuit, laughingly telling her and the lad Alan how his mum and gran had the most wonderful version of double chocolate cake. He held up the biscuit and critiqued the flavor, the texture, and being Bert, made sure that they understood that this store bought stuff was just a waste of money. I tuned him out as he went on, "Now, if you want a really good, and I mean, good, chocolate cake, well, I can whip one up that will knock your taste buds right out of your head!"

Morwenna was holding up the journal she'd referenced and was trying to show Al the anatomy of the human shoulder. The diagram filled half the page and from where I stood I could see the bones and ligaments, all labeled with long Latin words. Morwenna excitedly pointed out the bits, and I could see Al somewhat politely trying to pay attention, while at the same time Pauline snogged his left hand and arm, which he had draped around her neck.

Pauline was no longer weepy, more giggling, as she calmed down in the company of her boyfriend and the warm of the kitchen. Caught between Morwenna, who was luxuriating in the thrill of victory and Pauline, who was playing at a bit of tickling under the table, Al looked like he was certainly enjoying himself in spite of his injuries.

In the background I heard Joe in reception lecturing Derrick on how he was sorry that he'd had to smash him over the head, as well as the virtues of clean living.

Mick, the other bedraggled prisoner, sat off to the side on one of the hard kitchen chairs, sipping at tea and holding a plate of biscuits while trying to look invisible.

Martin cleared his throat and I gave him my full attention. "This lot," he whispered as I got close to him. "They'd better not wake up James."

"He's fine up there." I tapped the baby monitor on the counter. I picked it up and held to his ear. "Listen. Just little snores."

"Yes, he does snore a bit doesn't he?" Martin grimaced. "Like you."

"Yes, I know." I sighed. "Guess that means we're related."

Martin grunted. "Still, they'd better not wake him."

I looked at the room filled with friends, both old and new. "Ok, so far."

Martin nodded his head then yawned. "Sorry. Tired."

I took his arm. "It has been a full day hasn't it?"

Martin gave me one of those looks of his.

"Martin? What?"

He regarded me mysteriously once more.

I jiggled his arm. "Come on. What? Tell me."

"I was just thinking," he whispered, "how proud I am of you. The way you, helped… in there…" he waved towards his consulting room. "That was… most helpful. Thank you."

I hugged him swiftly. "Glad I could help you."

"Oh," he said softly. "You've helped me in so many ways, you know."

I gave him an unbelieving look. "I have?"

"Yes. Yes, you have."

Pauline started just then to call out to Bert. "Bert, I think you should know that when I swooped into the restaurant, there was this crowd of people in there, and let me tell you, they were frying up all your bacon and your eggs. They were yakkin' and laughing, just like us!" She looked about the room. "But I have to tell you they were getting into your hard stuff!"

"Oh, God!" said Bert. "Well, there goes my profit," he said sadly. "Still, we helped catch those two, uhm," he looked quickly at Mick. "People."

Mick shrugged and lifted his tea in salute. "Yup. Good tea. Thanks."

AL spoke. "So Pauline, I didn't _know_ you were coming to Portwenn this weekend. I was calling your mobile, but you didn't answer." Al hugged Pauline's shoulder. "I'm glad you're here." He kissed her hair. "Boy am I glad, you're here. Sorry I'm a little out of commission."

"But, you'll be fine in a few days. Right?" asked Pauline. "Doc Martin said so."

Martin brushed my hand away from his arm. "You should be. How's the pain?"

"Not that bad, Doc. Thanks." Al sighed. "I could do with a sling though, I think."

"Yes." Martin left.

"So, Louisa," said Pauline. "You and the Doc…"

I smiled. "Martin's staying, Pauline. In Portwenn."

She pursed her lips and punched Al's ribs lightly. "Nobody tells me anything!"

Al squirmed. "Paul! Ow! It all changed today! Give me a break."

Pauline's eyes lit up. "Today?"

I nodded. "Yes, just today."

"Well, I'm the last one to find out! I like that! I went through hell tonight getting back here for a visit, find a bunch of strangers having a party at your restaurant, and they told me 'some guy' who sounded a lot like you got hit with a shovel!" Pauline tapped Al's knee. "Don't let that happen again."

Bert laughed. "It wasn't Al's fault, Pauline! These things happen!"

Martin came back in carrying a sling, pulled Al's chair back from the table and out of the clutches of Pauline and Morwenna. He efficiently strapped up Al's arm and tipped two pills into his palm. "Take these."

Pauline jumped up, almost knocking Martin over. "These things happen, Bert? These things happen? They don't _just_ bloody happen, Bert! You mind tellin' me what did happen? What did _you_ have to do with this?"

"Er," Bert's face roved about on his thick neck for a few seconds. "Well, lass, it's like this…" he started to say, but stopped when there came a pounding on the kitchen door along with a howl that set all our teeth on edge.


	41. Chapter 41

Chapter 41 – Next Patient

Louisa crossed to the door and pulled it open. The howling stopped, amazingly, for as soon as the portal opened I ran to her side to see what this sodding village had deposited on our doorstep. There stood a man, wearing a felt hat and a heavy jacket. He was holding a wriggling white dog with brown ears, and spots on its sides. Another chap leaned on the siding outside smoking a stinky cigar.

"Buddy!" shouted Louisa as she reached out for the little dog. "Where'd you find him?" She rubbed his ears. "Where have you been for days? Hm?"

"Hello!" said the man. "I'm one of Mr. Large's ramblers. Oh, hi, Bert! Where's the constable? We went up to the truck as he said, although we had a damn hard time finding it. You can't believe how thick the fog has gotten out there." He hefted the dog in his arms. "This little guy was wandering around out there. We found the truck out there and in the back, well…" he rubbed Buddy's ears, "there were cages with about seven or eight dogs and a couple cats."

"We let 'em go, like the cop said!" threw in the second man. "Now," he sniffed the air. "You think we could have some of that tea? It's bloody cold and damp out! The people up the hill sent us down to your cottage. When we found the dog…"

"Of course!" said Louisa with a big smile on her face. She threw wide the door and waved them in. "Right on in, both of you!" She took Buddy in her arms. "Poor little doggy, he's so cold! We'll warm you up."

I looked with loathing as two more folk pushed into my tiny kitchen and spilled into the lounge. "Louisa!" I hissed. "Go right ahead! Invite in the whole village, why don't you? You!" I yelled at the smoking man. "Get rid of that!"

"Yeah," he grunted and threw the cigar out the door and slammed it shut.

"Martin!" Louisa whispered at me. "These two are cold and wet, tired; thirsty! Don't be rude! Besides," she hugged the dog to her chest, "they found Buddy! I was wondering where he's been."

The dog accepted her embrace, his pink tongue lolling from his mouth. Her hand ran through the smooth fur under his neck. He woofed once and then started to whimper softly.

"What's the matter, boy? Did you miss us?" Louisa kissed Buddy's head and my lips curled in derision.

"God, Louisa! Don't do that! Dogs are loaded with bacteria and viruses; diseases of all sorts. You don't want a nasty infection, do you? Imagine what might happen if you got sick and passed it on to James Henry!" I stood well back from the dog like he carried contagion. "We'll have to disinfect the whole kitchen!" I flung my pointed finger to the door. "Get that thing out of here! Now!"

Louisa's jaw dropped. "Oh, Martin. Calm down. You make it sound like Buddy has the Black Death."

"He might!"

"What's the matter, Doc?" asked Al. "He is, or was, your Aunt Joan's dog. Not like you don't know him. And Ruth has been lookin' for him for a few days."

"Yeah, Doc," added Bert. "He's just a little dog." He laughed. "Give the poor little sod a break! You don't like dogs, do you?" He leaned towards his new girlfriend, or whatever she was. "The Doc has been bedeviled by mutts ever since he got here."

The two newcomers were tucking into tea and biscuits, polishing off the last crumbs. One looked up at Louisa. "By the way, that dog of yours…"

"He's not ours," I said emphatically.

The man laughed. "It sure looks like it to me! Your missus don't mind holding him close. But I was saying…"

"Stop!" I said. "This smelly and filthy creature is _not_ my dog, nor Louisa's. He belonged to my late aunt, and he is now the property of my _other_ aunt, who took over the farm where he used to live."

"And…" added Louisa. "We're not _exactly_ married. Tried to be, but…"

The man shook his head. "Look you two. I don't care if you are married, living together, or are just having a one night stand of slap and tickle! What I'm trying to say…"

"Listen, you," I shook my finger at him. "Miss Glasson, is my…" I stopped and turned to look at Louisa.

She had a shocked look but a smile played about her lips and eyes. She hugged my arm, still holding the smelly canine. "What would _you_ say we are Martin?"

I gave her a startled look knowing there was but one correct answer. "We are parents?"

Her eyes twinkled and her pink lips parted over perfect teeth. "A bit more than that, wouldn't you say?" She chuckled and the smile went on.

I cleared my throat, about to ask Louisa what she thought we were when Pauline screamed.

"Doc! Louisa! He's bleeding!" She pointed between us.

I started and looked about, puzzled at her outburst. But after all, it was Pauline Lamb, my ever excitable and pushy ex clerk.

"Pauline? What are you saying?" Louisa shouted back.

Pauline jumped up, pointing. "Not you! Not Martin. It's Buddy! He's bleeding!"

Morwenna's eyes stared and she pointed at us. "She's right! He's bleeding!"

I looked down, and sure enough, there was a trickle of bright red blood dripping down from Buddy's paw.

"Yeah!" said one of the new interlopers. "I was tryin' to say that. We let all the other dogs out and found this 'un scrabbling in the dirt, digging away. I picked him up and found he had that hurt on his paw! We stopped at the first house, that B&B up there, and they sent us down here. That's how we found your surgery. Right?"

His companion nodded and downed his third mug of tea, if I was counting correctly. "Right."

"We told 'em we had a hurt beast. They recognized him straight away; said he belonged to you. So down we come. Tapped at the front door, but nobody come, so we poked around back, and here we are."

I was holding a tea towel to Buddy's paw and observed that steady pressure made the wound stop oozing. I waved away his explanation, bent down and peered at the foot. "A lot of dirt in there. He needs to see a vet."

"Oh, poor little thing," cooed Louisa. "There's just old Darby Vellacot over in Pendoggett. Quite a way. Helluva drive, this late. He's probably in bed by know." Her pretty eyes gazed at me. "You'll treat him, won't you Martin?"

A roomful of eyes pierced me with dart-like rays. Their expressions were ones of expectation, delight, interest, and confusion and Pauline laughed aloud at my confusion.

Pauline's belly laugh was joined by Louisa's tinkling chuckle. "Here's your next patient, Doctor Ellingham." She hugged the dog as he woofed and licked at my hand.

"Oh God," I groaned.


	42. Chapter 42

Chapter 42 – Coming Clean

There are things that have happened to me that, if I wrote them down, would be absolutely unbelievable. If published, perish the thought, the editors would have a very hard time deciding if it belonged in the comedy, tragedy, or psychological treatise sections. This particular part, back in my surgery one more time quite late on a Friday night would be one of those unbelievable bits.

I sighed as I examined the wretched mammal on table. The patient's name was Buddy. He was a Jack Russell mix of unknown age, mostly white with brown ears and eyes. He could not have weighed more than ten or twelve pounds and stood, at most, a foot tall at the shoulder. He must have had redeeming qualities or Aunt Joan would never have tolerated him. Poor Joan. Well, at least I could treat her dog for his medical problem.

At least this patient, though, wasn't a 200 kilogram pig, and I wasn't crouching in pig shit to treat the thing.

Buddy sat there quite still as I prodded his left paw. I spied a line of newly healed tissue on the fleshy pad of his foot. But there was something there as well; something foreign.

"What is it, Doc?" asked Morwenna who was crouching down, looking over my shoulder. "Has he got something stuck in there? Poor doggy." She petted my patient and he woofed.

I turned my head and glared at her. "Morwenna! How in God's name can I do a proper exam when you're practically climbing on my back?"

Her face fell. "Sorry, Doc. Just trying to see what's wrong, is all."

The girl's face drooped more and I did feel a bit sorry for lashing out at her. She had been correct about Al's shoulder, and she had assisted me in the emergency surgery on Louisa's mum Eleanor. "Right. If you're going to help, put gloves on. And bring back that basin over there and the germicidal soap and some towels."

"You mean that?"

"If I said it, I mean it. Help me or get out. Now."

The girl did as instructed, and came to me with the items requested. "Thanks, Doc. For letting me help you, again."

"Yeah."

"Martin?" Louisa stood in the doorway, peering in. "I called Aunt Ruth and told her we've found Buddy. She was glad to hear about him, but not very happy I woke her up."

"Is she coming to collect him?" I'd just started to wash dirt off his paw after thoroughly scrubbing it down. The dog winced as I rubbed his limb, but didn't bark or bite; remarkably remaining in one place quite stoically.

Louisa bit her lip. "Well… she said the fog is very thick at the farm too. Said we should keep him."

"Overnight? Blast it! Morwenna, I need more light. Bring my lamp over, the one on the table. Yes, that's it."

Morwenna set the desk lamp on the exam table, plugged it in and switched on, and then I could see better. "That it Doc?"

"Hm. Yes." I said. Now the field was clearer. There was a nylon stitch buried in the tissue at the end. It looked to me like there had been other stiches in place, but now pulled away. "Now about Ruth, Louisa. She _is_ coming tomorrow? To get him?"

The head teacher smiled oddly. "No. She said _we_ should keep him. Given as how he seems to like you so much, she suggested Buddy should be _your_ dog."

"My dog! Morwenna, get your head out of the way once more! I can't see when you bend over like that!" I scowled up at Louisa. "She said _I_ should _keep_ him?"

Louisa chuckled nervously. "Yes, she said that."

I hung my head and muttered. "A house full of babies, mothers, cretins, villagers, criminals, a Bodmin police constable, and now a mangy, smelly, mutt. Oh, why the hell not? Might as well call Stewart the Forest Ranger and have him bring Anthony his six-foot tall squirrel in for an annual exam!"

"Steady, Doc," said Morwenna. "This _is_ Portwenn."

I gave her a knowing look. "Yes, I know. Things… happen here."

"Granddad says that that's the way village life is, you see. Things happen all the time, no matter where, but in a small village like this news gets around!" exclaimed Morwenna. "People have little quirks; everyone knows that. And here in Portwenn… you've likely noticed… they do!"

I breathed deeply and blew it out. "Yes. I know. The Portwenn Effect. Mark Mylow taught me that some time back."

"Well, there you go!" said the girl. "Steady on, Doc. You can sort it. I know _you_ can."

I snipped the offending stitch free and tugged it from the healing tissue. The trickle of blood had gone to an oozing seepage. I clapped a gauze pad into place atop a dab of topical antibiotic. "I don't see any other damage. Looks like somebody has operated on Buddy recently, or at least stitched him up. I think he'd tugged out his own stitches. All but the last." A soft roll of surgical tissue followed and I taped off the ends. "He might chew this off in the next few minutes," I sighed sadly. "Utter waste of my time."

I heard muffled voices in the hall and Louisa was pushed aside by Joe and Mick. Mick had a guilty expression.

Joe prodded Mick. "Go on. Tell the Doc what you just told me."

"Ok," Mick said. "That little dog, he got hurt when we had 'em. I asked around and took him to the vet out in Pendoggett. He'd into got a bit of sharp wire or sumpthin' and cut his paw. So the vet treated him. Didn't charge much either."

"So what were we going to do with those dogs and cats, Mick?" asked Penhale.

Derrick's voice shouted from reception. "Keep your mouth shut, McCready! You hear me?"

Mick looked at Joe and spoke. "Might as well tell you. We done that before. Travel around and pick up strays. Never would take any with a collar – no way. Then we'd clean 'em up, a good washup, take them into Falmouth and sell 'em."

"Damn it, Mick!" shouted Derrick sounding desperate now. "You'll get us into the slammer for sure!"

"We're _already_ going to the slammer, Derrick! Might as well come clean," he said back. Mick limped to the table and put his hand on Buddy's head. "This one, though, I was goin' to keep. He's a nice little dog."

Louisa's blue eyes met mine. "But… you can't keep him now," she said.

Mick chuckled. "Nope. Not at all. Now if you don't mind, I'd better head back to that kitchen chair as my back is playin' up." He ruffled Buddy's ears. "You ok, fella? Guess you got diggin' in that old hole up there and opened your paw up. Sorry about that."

Joe started at that. "Hole. Yeah, that hole! Why were you digging a hole on the headland?"

Derrick yelled and cursed once more. "Mick! Keep your bloody mouth shut! You'll bugger us for sure!"

Mick's eyes' roved around my surgery. "Aye. Well, if you'll let me get back to that kitchen chair, I'll tell you. All of it! A clean breast of the whole thing, right?"

Louisa took his arm. "Let me help you."

Buddy jumped off the exam couch with tail wagging and followed Mick and Louisa down the hall.

Morwenna's face looked excited. "Come on Doc!" She stripped the couch of the paper cover and binned it with her gloves. "This sounds like a good story."

I groaned. "Right. Just what I need to hear is another bloody, barmy, Portwenn story," I said, but I followed her anyway.

**Author's note: This is, of course, the second time that Doc Martin has treated an animal. The first was Mr. Porter's prize sow on someone's ill-fated wedding day.**


	43. Chapter 43

Chapter 43 – Tableau

The montage was all arranged, apparently, as I took my place next to Louisa who was leaning up against the sink. "What's going on?" I asked her softly.

She whispered back to me. "Mick is going to tell us what he and Derrick were doing up there tonight, in the fog; the attempted, robbery, all that."

I sighed as I looked closely at her. She'd worked today, dealt with school crises, chased a mad woman about the parish trying to find our son, listened to a heartfelt and humble profession of love from a certain GP, eaten dinner and fed her baby twice, had then enthusiastically made love to me three times, assisted in surgery brilliantly, helped to wrestle a man on the reception floor, then played host at an impromptu house party, and _still_ looked bright-eyed and beautiful. I yearned to kiss her, but accepted that putting a hand over hers, where she braced herself against the counter was the best and most expedient alternative.

She asked quietly, "What Martin? What are you thinking?"

I looked about the room. Bert Large sat next to the Ariadne Aster woman, with an arm about her shoulders, his fat face lit by an inner light. Ari had her good hand on his, not that different from mine on Louisa's. I didn't know how long they'd known each other, but knowing Bert as I did, he was on another path of romantic conquest – likely to fail, unfortunately for him.

His son Al, a bit banged up, was cornered by Pauline Lamb who sat with her legs crossways over his lap, and Al's injuries must not have hurt that badly, as he had his lips buried in his girlfriend's neck.

Pauline giggled and whispered something to him and they both laughed together. I rolled my eyes and hoped they would use a condom if they got that far. There were likely _enough_ unplanned pregnancies in Portwenn for one season.

Morwenna, my new clerk, stood bolt upright in the corner, looking a bit wistfully, I thought, at Al. If she knew what was good for her, she would stay well out of Pauline's way. That red-head was a fire eater and I'd been the recipient of her ire more than once. Morwenna, on the other hand, was not so hot tempered and generally in good humor. I nodded at her as she caught me looking and gave me a bright smile. There was a brain in the head of hers, and if she used it as she did this evening… well, she might go far.

I turned my attention to Mick, the younger and blonder of the two prisoners. He was pouring tea down like no tomorrow and I watched him as with wetted finger he picked up the last few crumbs from the biscuit tin Louisa had set out. He gave me a crooked smile and set the mug on the table, apparently waiting for a chance to speak.

Next to Mick stood PC Joe Penhale, looking about officiously with thumbs hooked over his belt. I saw that he'd released Derrick, the dog-bitten one, from the tape restraints, which Louisa and that boy and strapped about him. That tosser now sat on a chair looking blearily about the room, his hands still manacled, and I tried to assess his cerebral state remotely. The man yawned and rubbed his face. If he was having another absence seizure it must be a small one or perhaps he was just tired, or his mild concussion was having more of an affect.

Joe looked seriously from side to side checking on his two charges, then caught my eye and flashed me a quick 'thumbs up.' Joe had caught has man, erh men, tonight, finally getting to use his handcuffs. The fool was now very proud of himself, but he must be no fool if he _was_ able to perform his duties in spite of his innate foolish nature.

When I walked into the kitchen, the two other men, who had brought Buddy to the cottage, had just gone out the door, muttering something about finding a pub still open at this late hour. They hadn't seemed to need medical attention, so at least I was off the hook with them, unless they crawled back up here in the morning with alcohol poisoning.

The young boy, Alec, Alex? No! _Alan_ was his name, perched on the end of the sofa in the lounge, kicking his heels against the end of the furniture, and I hoped his shoes were not filthy. The child looked about Peter Cronk's size and I don't know what his other intellectual qualifications might be, but he did know something about first aid and antiseptic procedure. I hoped he'd not waste what brains he had on video games and comic books.

Do children still read comic books? What do children _do_ nowadays? Do they still play at pirates, skip rope and hopscotch? Or is it all sitting on their skinny arses perched in front of a glowing computer screen, playing at shoot-em-up over the Internet with people across the world, while the entire ignored and glorious universe is waiting, unnoticed, outside their messy rooms?

"Martin?" asked Louisa once more.

I heard James Henry snoring softly over the baby monitor next to my elbow. Snug in his cot upstairs in my, no _our_, bedroom. There was a tatty one-eyed monkey looking over him, a Paddington Bear, and a drooled on and bedraggled stuffed bunny which Louisa insisted must keep him company. No computer screen, iPad, or mobile yet for our child, only soft cuddly objects. In time he may even like to chase and catch butterflies or star gaze, much as I had once. I stiffened my mouth and clamped my lips together. _I'd_ not punish _him_ when _he_ wanted _me_ to go outside at 2 AM to observe a comet.

"Martin?" asked Louisa again. "Is something wrong?"

I looked down and there was Buddy the dog sitting by my left foot, slightly favoring his left paw, which was still bandaged. At least the stupid animal hadn't stripped the dressing off. By some magic the dog felt my gaze, looked up at me and woofed. His pink tongue lolled from his black gums and he bent forward and licked my shoe. Part of my brain wanted to kick him aside, but I was restrained by the voice of my late great Auntie Joan ringing in my head. 'Do unto others, Marty! Do unto others!'

Joan had not left any part of the farm to me. Instead she left it to her older sister Ruth. Now my Aunt Ruth had decreed that this little dog was to be mine. Buddy panted some more, then lay down by my shoe. He looked at up at me and if dogs could smile (silly thought) he did.

A slice of Portwenn was packed into this room. It smelled of tea, cocoa and coffee, a cakey smell from the biscuit tin on the table, dirty shoes, tobacco, unwashed armpits and feet, damp jeans and cardigans from a foggy night, kenzo flower, fresh deodorant and hairspray. Portwenn. Misbegotten, messed up, rubbish village that it was; a tiny biscuit-tin town of a blot on the map. The backend of nowhere.

Louisa tugged at my hand, her cool fingers entwined with mine. "Martin? Something amiss?"

I turned to catch her eyes. "No. Not a thing." I squeezed her hand.

Mick cleared his throat, every head turned to him, and the room fell silent.

**Author's notes: **

**A word about a character's name - In mythology Ariadne was the daughter of King Minos of Crete. She gave Theseus a sword to slay a viscous beast, the Minotaur, in the Labyrinth and gave him the means to escape (a ball of thread) from the maze. Her father, King Minos, was one of three sons of Asterion, the previous king of Crete, so her name is Ariadne Aster… She _may_ lead us from the Labyrinth that is this Friday night.**

**James's toys in the cot - Louisa had been given the one-eyed monkey at the baby shower. Louisa, in another story of mine, had patted the bronze statue of Paddington Bear at Paddington Station during her escape from Portwenn the previous fall. Appropriate, I think that James has a toy bear. Another FF story, 'The Consultation' by Snowsie2011, has a stuffed bunny for James Henry. I thank the author for the loan of the prop. :)**

**p.s. Seems that I have appropriated the stuffed toy bunny from jd517 and one of her stories. Sorry! Must be a great rabbit and a busy one!**


	44. Chapter 44

Chapter 44 – A Story

The young prisoner cleared his throat. "Now, let me tell this story straight out. I won't hold anything back, as long as you don't go butting in with silly questions. When I was in the Army that's the way we did it, and I'm following the same lead."

Derrick cast a bleary look at his mate. "You are going to tell all?" He shook his head sadly. "Might as well. We're buggered anyway. Come on Mick."

"Ok. I was telling the doctor that I know Derrick here, through my dad. He's uh, off somewhere, just now," started Mick. "Anywhere, after I got out of prison, I needed a job. Derrick looked me up and we started doing odd jobs. Haulage, paintin', bit of landscaping, mostly down Falmouth way. But we managed to get by."

"Yeah," added Derrick. "As long as we didn't spend too much dough at the pubs."

Mick looked daggers at Derrick. "Derrick, let me tell it!"

Derrick held out his mug. "More tea?"

Louisa filled it and dropped in two lumps of sugar. "Milk?"

"No, I take it black," said the man and he was answered by shudders and horrified oaths. Pauline Lamb accentuated _her_ feelings by poking a finger towards her open mouth and making gagging noises.

Louisa lowered the kettle. "Black. You're like my dad. He drinks it black, I mean."

Bert sniffed "To each their own, Louisa. Go on Mick."

Louisa dropped the kettle on the counter with a clunk and crossed her arms angrily. "I should throw the lot out," she muttered.

I touched her arm. "Don't let it bother you."

"Thanks, Martin." She looked up at me. "Been an odd sort of evening."

"Yes. It's been…"

"Interesting?"

"Confounding, I'd say." I sniffed. "Oh, God! Is that damp dog I smell?" I looked down and there lay Buddy curled up on the throw rug, apparently asleep. Poor little sod. Lord only knew what he'd been through the last few days. That thought stopped me from saying any more about Buddy, at least out loud.

Bert harrumphed. "If you _two _lovebirds would shut it, Mick can get on with his description, right?"

"Sorry," said Louisa and she squeezed my hand to keep me quiet.

Mick scanned the room. "Ok. So one night we was in this pub by Falmouth, the Fishermen's Net, I think it was. Derrick was having a killer night playing darts, taking shot after shot that were just smashing his opponents. I was polishing off a beer when this bloke slid up to me real quiet like, flashy dresser, soft voice. I thought he might be a poof. I mean, nothing wrong with that but not my style," he gave Morwenna an appraising look and she beamed at him.

Mick went on. "Well, this guy, said his name was Gilbert, and he told me there was this other bloke looking for two men. He'd seen our truck; it was a small lorry that Derrick inherited from his dad when he died. Seems there was a job of some sort, he needed doing, if we was interested."

Derrick drank from his mug. "We were."

"So this Gilbert slips me a mobile number. Derrick called it. And this fellow answered. He had a job."

Al blurted out "It involved digging holes."

"Eventually. You see… long time back, there was this bootblack millionaire. He'd gone barmy over King Arthur. Got into all that bit about the Round Table, Lady of the Lake, Excalibur, the Holy Grail. You know! Seems he started roaming around, all up and down the coast…"

Ari brightened up. "That's what I've read about. Rupert Saunders was the millionaire! He had relatives in Portwenn, and he kept trying to connect Tintagel with the village! Wow! I read his journals! Did you read them too? I'm working on a book!"

Mick gave Derrick a startled look. "No. We just… drove up here. You see this bloke, he told us that we needed to get a metal detector. So we did. We gave us some idea to look on the headland and at a few farms and we was supposed to look for buried… well," Mick cleared his throat. "Old stuff."

Bert laughed then got serious. "Old stuff? Like treasure?"

Mick shrugged. "The guy never really said. Just old stuff, maybe."

Derrick leaned back on his chair. "Yeah, old stuff. We didn't really know what we was supposed to be looking for."

"This man," asked Joe, "what did he look like? Who is he?"

"Don't know." Mick said. "We never met him. Only chatted on the mobile."

Joe laughed. "So you two morons just went all about, hither and yon, looking for a needle in a haystack! What a story! You expect us to believe you?"

Derrick looked at Joe with distaste. "Moron? Moron? Listen bright boy, if you are so smart, what in the bloody hell are you doing here? In this place? Why aren't you working for Scotland Yard, genius?" He sneered. "Stuff it!"

"You stuff it!" shouted the riled up constable.

Derrick rose from his chair and turned on Joe. "You stuff it!

Joe backed up towards the counter, grabbed a soup ladle from the sink and whirled on Derrick with it. "Listen you! _I _am an _officer_ of the law! _You_ are under _arrest_! Are you _threatening_ me?" He waved the soup ladle about like a sword. "If I had my pepper spray…"

I sprang between them. "Stop! This is my…" I stole a quick look at Louisa. "Our home! Our home! Now stop or get out!"

Joe prodded once more with his deadly ladle. "Derrick, I'm putting my weapon down. Let's just sit down." He lowered the tool and spread his hands wide. "I am backing away from it!"

"Yeah," agreed Derrick and his face sagged. "Seems that bang on the head is acting up. Doc, you got any aspirin?" He slumped back onto his chair.

I stepped to him and looked at his face, which seemed a bit worn, more than before. "Here, let's put you on the sofa." I prodded him ahead of me, down the single step to the lounge, and pulled Alan up off the furniture. "Lie down." I had him take his shoes off and put his feet higher than his head on the end cushion.

"So Mick," asked Al, "what did you find out there? That was a hell of a hole you was digging!"

"Looked to me big enough for an excavation for the new town sewer!" laughed Bert. "But seriously…"

I wasn't really paying attention to the nattering fools around the kitchen table and went back to Derrick's concussion. "Lie still. Relax. Don't get upset. I should take your blood pressure." As I bent over him I nearly tripped over a muddy satchel, more of a Gladstone bag really, so I threw it out of the lounge where it plummeted with a clank to the kitchen floor.

"Hey!" yelled Alan. "I carried that bag down here and you just go flinging it about! You… tosser!"

Morwenna crouched over the dirty bag, where it lay in a lump, at the end of a filthy smear where my throw had spun it across the floor. "What's in there?" She prodded at the clasp, pried it open, and with shaking hands pulled something gleaming and shiny from it. "Oh, my God!" the girl shouted. "Is this gold?"

**Note: I am again (and perhaps always) indebted to the readers of my paltry fictions, who continue to keep me on the straight and narrow. To Griffinstar. Yes. I know. Cell phone in the UK equals mobile… Thanks once more!**


	45. Chapter 45

Chapter 45 - Assay

"Gold?" came a chorus of puzzled yet excited voices to my ears as I was trying to take Derrick's pulse. His pulse would be normal for ten seconds or so and then either drop away in rate or notch up by a factor of 30 percent. Very perplexing and I began to be concerned about what was happening to him. I heard his breath catch in his throat.

Bert Large and his son Al were whooping and hollering while Pauline screamed with delight. I saw Ariadne from the corner of my eye and she sat stunned at the kitchen table. Joe Penhale jumped to his feet along with Mick, both looking at each in glee. Louisa leaned against the sink with an amazed look tinged with fear, oddly. Alan the boy had a startled look as well. All this flashed in my vision as Derrick struggled under my hands.

"Gold?" he whispered shakily and sat upright. He pushed my hands away. "Leave off, Doc!" Derrick shot up and brushed past me. "Leave that!" he shouted and fell to his knees on top of the Gladstone bag trying to cover the bag with his elbows as he wrestled with Morwenna for the metal object in her hands. "That's mine!"

Morwenna pulled back. "No! Ow! I've got it! Let go!" She tried to push Derrick back while tugging at the object, now clutched viciously by Derrick in spite of the handcuffs still on his wrists.

This only caused Derrick to get even meaner. "You little git!" he screamed. "Give that here!" He shoved Morwenna back and she fell on her bum with a little squeal.

I sprang from the sofa. "Just a minute! You can't go about assaulting women!" came my voice and I seized Derrick by the neck of his filthy shirt and pulled him backwards, where he thumped down the step into the lounge. I shook a finger in his face while he looked astonished that the GP had collared him. "I've had enough of you! Stay there and shut it!"

All this happened in a blink of an eye before anyone else could possibly budge. The kitchen was suddenly extremely quiet and you could have heard a pin drop, but the only sound that came was from Buddy who'd suddenly sat up and woofed at the top of his lungs.

"Morwenna!" Joe Penhale sprang to life and grabbed Derrick. "That's enough!" yelled Portwenn's constable and he puffed up with all the might of his officialdom. "Derrick Mann, you've done enough damage for one night! Tacking on more charges you know! So lie there!"

Louisa knelt by Morwenna to check her over. "You ok?"

Morwenna rubbed her backside and looked daggers at Derrick as Joe stood over him. Her eyes were wide and I saw tiny tears form at the corners as she took Louisa's hand and stood up. She shook the thing in her hands at the man squatting under Joe's balled fists. "You… you… you… listen…" her voice quaked until she found it. "I'm not just some little _girl_ you can push around! My name is Morwenna Melwyn Newcross! The blood of ancient priestesses and hardworking farmers and fisher folk runs through my veins! And I ought to bash your bloody skull in!" She hefted the article in her hand as if to strike.

Louisa gently took her hand and stopped her. "Morwenna, uhm, bad idea."

My clerk's eyes fell. "Oh, right." She lowered her arm and finally looked at the metal thing she was holding. "Doc is _this_ gold?" She ran her finger along the thing; some sort of cylinder ending in a round disc. "What you think?"

I looked at it briefly. "Doubt it. Can't be. May I?" I held out my hand and she hesitantly dropped it into my waiting palm. The thing was cold, hard, with a sort of dirty bronze look to it, and it was relatively smooth under my finger, but my surgeon's fingers felt tiny pits and score marks along its length.

"Whatcha' think, Martin?" Louisa said, as she peered at the thing. "Is it? Note very likely, can it be?'

I looked at Louisa Glasson, her pretty face screwed up in interest as she gazed at the thing in my hand. I hefted it, mentally weighing it. Gold is very dense, over seventy percent more than the weight of lead for an object of the same volume. I lightly tossed the thing and rubbed some of the dirt from it.

"Martin?" asked Louisa softly.

Bert lumbered over to me with Al, Pauline, and the boy in close attendance. "Doc?" said Bert. "You would know, right?"

Pauline held Al's arm and the look on her face was one of desire, avarice, and greed. Al licked his lips nervously and rolled his eyes at me. Alan looked at the floor and then at me, almost willing me with his eyes to say what they all wanted it to be.

There was just one way to find out. I looked round at them and lifting the thing to my face, licked it.

**Author's note: Morwenna, a great Cornish name, means sea and shining, or perhaps also mermaid. I thought that her character needed a middle name and found Melwyn online. That one, also Cornish, means honey and shining (or holy). So Morwenna Melwyn Newcross, is not just 'some little girl' but a person with some meaning to her substance. Besides I liked the sound of that middle name along with her first and last names.**


	46. Chapter 46

Chapter 46 – All That Glitters

Louisa shouted "Martin!"

Pauline screeched and Morwenna made a long "Ooohh" sound as I ran my tongue over the object. It tasted of some sea salt, a bit of dirt, and a distinct metallic tang I easily recognized as brass. I pulled it from my mouth, stepped quickly to the sink and rinsed the taste away.

"My God, Martin! Whatever did you do that for?" Louisa asked as her jaw recovered from the jaw drop of horror.

I wiped my mouth on my handkerchief and turned around to see that suddenly I was the center of the spectacle.

Bert swung his heavy-lidded eyes to me "Doc, why'd you do that?"

Al pursed his lips and nodded. "Yeah. I get it," he said. "Good one Doc!"

Pauline wrinkled her nose at him. "I've been gone all of three months and I come back to find Doc Martin has gone mental! Total barking Bodmin and my boyfriend agrees with licking old, dirty things from out of the ground! Ughh! Yech!"

"So, what did ya' taste? Was it bad? Why'd you do it?" Morwenna asked calmly and I gave her points, as well as Al, for more than average intelligence.

"You see," Al started to say then he stopped. "But maybe I should let you explain," he told me. "Go on Doc."

Joe Penhale now stood next to Derrick, who sat there dazed in the lounge, as Joe had hauled him onto the sofa. "That some sort of newfangled medical practice? Tasting things? I sure hope you don't do that with patient samples!" he snorted but when seeing my flash of annoyance he shut his mouth.

Alan had fallen to his knees and was pulling other lumps and bits from the bag while Mick craned his neck over the shoulder of Morwenna to see more. I could see the pieces were similar to what I held in my hand, all coated with an uneven covering of dust and dirt. Some of them were brownish, like the thing I had in my hand, others were grey with lumpy accretions, and I could hear some clinking in the bottom of the bag as he rooted deeper.

"Wow!" the child yelled. "Look at all this… stuff! Neat!"

I pushed the thing in my hand under the running faucet and washed it. I quick swipe with a tea towel and it was about as good as it would get without extensive restoration.

Louisa took my arm to get my attention, her grey-blue eyes wide in concern. "Is it… you know… gold?"

"No." I said emphatically. "Brass."

"Brass?" she answered as the others echoed with cries of "No!", "You're wrong!" and "Damn it!"

"Yup." I ran my hand over it. "This is a candlestick holder." I held it up for them to see. "The brown patina is from water in the soil and sea salt in the air. And it tastes of brass."

Al nodded in agreement. "Had to be. Goes to figure."

Bert gave Al a dirty look. "Come on boy! You can't say that? It must be gold! Why…"

"No dad, you're wrong," said Al insistently. He took the thing from my hand and licked it just as I had. "Bah!" and gave me a level look. "I agree, Doc. Good one that."

I stared around the room at my audience. "I'm no metallurgist but I do know that gold is nearly chemically inert under normal conditions. It does _not_ corrode and it has _no_ taste. It also keeps its shine through the ages. Look! This thing is covered with patina and is pitted. Gold doesn't do that!"

Bert laughed. "You're Bodmin the both of you! Give me that!" He took the candlestick holder, then ran his hands along it, rubbed it, squinted at it, then tasted it as Al had. His face fell as the tang of the brass hit his brain. "You're right. Oh hell," he finished sadly.

"You're sure?" asked Louisa. "What about those other pieces?"

Alan rose holding a corroded pitcher and a goblet, both of gray metal. He banged them together, and they rang loudly, and then examined the dents on each. "I pretty sure these are pewter. Copper and tin."

"Don't taste those, Alan," I told him sternly. "Considering the age, there's likely lead in those as well. Given the powdery appearance of that corrosion, I'd say lead is in evidence."

"Oh come on you two!" shouted Bert. "There must be something of value in there!" Grunting he bent down and picked up three small discs from the floor. "What about these?" He held them out to the light.

Ari Aster levered herself from the table and walked slowly closer. "Let me see them."

Bert held them under her roving fingers. "These two might be Norman coins. See the cross stamped on them? Likely a face on the obverse." She picked it up and examined the back. "Yes. These two are from William the Conqueror. About 1070 AD I'd say. Look he's wearing a crown." She waved them about so we could see them.

Then she dropped the coins back into Bert's hand and picked up the other. "This one looks like silver as well." She squinted at the oblong shape. "Yes, I think so. Probably Roman. Very badly worn. Probably about 100 BC or earlier, I'd say."

"Oh? So lady, are you a coinage expert as well?" Derrick snarled.

Ari turned cool eyes onto the man. "No. But my dad was. I've seen coins like this my whole life. This one," she held up the worn smaller of the three, "is a denarius." She snapped it back into Bert's large palm.

"Ancient coins?" Alan piped up. "Wow! How much do you think they're worth? I didn't find any more, just more candlesticks, some iron bars, and another pitcher. They all look about the same as the others."

Mick laughed hysterically. "All this skulking about in the fog and in the dark, trespassing, all that, for a bag of old junk and three coins! What dummies we've been Derrick!" he slapped his head for emphasis. "Total bleeding idiots! All for a bag of junk." He stalked over to Joe. "That's it, officer. Take us away, I can't stand to hear or see any more!"

"Shut it!" yelled Bert and then laughed nervously. "But all this must be worth something. Anything?'

The woman shook her head from side to side sadly. "Oh Bert. The coins might be worth, I don't know how much. Maybe as much as…"

"A lot, right?" probed Bert and he licked his lips in anticipation.

"Now, dad!" said Al. "Don't go off half-cocked. You know how you can be at times!"

Ari sighed and shook her head. "I can't say about the other things. Not much I suppose. But the William the Conqueror coins, maybe three hundred for the two and the Roman one, maybe fifty or sixty."

Bert's face lit up in glee. "Three hundred and fifty thousand Pounds" He slapped Al on the back who winced under the blow. "This is it boy! I knew it! Large and Large, Treasure Finders!"

Ariadne patted Bert's face with her good hand. "Oh Bert," she said sadly. "Three hundred and fifty Pounds. Sorry."

"Oh," said Bert his dreams of riches devastated, apparently. He sighed. "Back to work, Bert. Nothin' is ever easy, is it?" he muttered to himself.

"All that glitters is not gold," sighed Louisa sadly as she stood by my side.

"Amen to that," I answered.

**Author's note: January 28, 2012 is the one year anniversary of my launch into a new ocean; that of Doc Martin fan fiction. On January 28, 2011, I posted the first chapter of my very first Doc Martin story which I titled "Doc Martin at Night." It has been an interesting year!**

**Coins: The two 'Norman coins' as described are from 1070 AD, the third series of coins minted by William the Conqueror in England. The face on the coin is a frontal view of William wearing a crown, the coin being minted for his crowning as King of Britain.**

**Although the Romans started scouting Britain about 55 BC (the Greeks likely visited in the fifth century BC) they did not come in force until 43 AD and they were unwelcome 'house guests' until 410 AD. The Roman denarius found by Mick and Derrick was much worn, and may have come with early scouting raids by the Romans or been carried along later. Coinage from many eras was circulated in the ancient era, being valued for the metal in it, and not quite as much for the denomination. Some new rulers would mint their own coinage and would obsolete previous issues, to 1) instill their reign on the country (especially if it was taken by invasions or revolt) and 2) to eliminate fake coins (counterfeiting was common – using lead or tin in palce or silver, copper, or gold).**


	47. Chapter 47

Chapter 47 – All Gone

"Why in the world would someone bury a bag of junk up on the headland, anyway?" Al nudged the bedraggled Gladstone bag with his foot.

"I think I might know!" Ari spoke up. "Rupert Saunders. I've mentioned him before and so did Mick. The man did have relatives here in Portwenn and over in Padstow. Apparently, he was absolutely furious about all the fuss of Tintagel. Felt that his ancestors were somehow being ignored, as all the Arthurian buffs mobbed the castle and grounds just north of here. He felt that here, in the village of Portwenn, was where it 'should be happening'." She paused. "Imagine if you owned a farm, and suddenly copper or tin was found in abundance on your neighbors' farm. A neighbor you might not like? And over on your side of the line – _pfhutt_ – nothing. So while your neighbor is raking in the money, you get nothing. I'm guessing that he, well…"

"He sort of made a '_plant'_?" Morwenna piped up.

"Right. Stashed a few bits and pieces here and there to keep people interested in the possibility that King Arthur, or whoever, might have been down here as well." Ari looked sadly at the grimey bag. "But this… is all _junk_. Not much of a hoard." She shook her head sadly. "I've read letters of his business partner speaking of Rupert 'going on another expedition' and then how the partner had to help him pay out a fine for trespassing. That was down in St. Mawes, just east of Falmouth; another seacoast town of course. Poor old fellow. Wasted his fortune and ended up in the madhouse at the end. Shame."

Alan held up the pitcher and goblet. "Still might be worth a bit."

Derrick started to laugh. "Boy, let it _go_! It's all been a magnificent boondoggle. Damn! A giant faff around from start to finish!" He looked up at Penhale. "Copper, can you please take me somewhere nice and safe - one behind good strong iron bars and concrete walls? I never ever want to see another Cornwall village and especially not this one!" He struggled to stand and held out his hands, still enveloped in Joe's handcuffs. "Just take us away and I'll confess everything!"

Buddy bounded over and stopped three feet away from the man and barked loudly and that set James Henry to crying overhead.

"And can someone get that bloody little dog away from me? Hasn't he done enough damage for one night?" He waved his manacled hands overhead. "God! I hate dogs! Mick, this is all your fault!"

Buddy stood his ground, now growling at Derrick, while the baby continued to cry, his voice amplified by natural acoustics and the baby monitor in the kitchen.

"Lord. Better get him!" bawled Louisa and shot off like a rocket.

Mick bent down and petted Buddy, who stopped barking and actually licked the man's hand.

I surveyed the assemblage and clapped my hands. "Ok. That's it! The show is over, unless there are unannounced and undiagnosed cases of bubonic plague, influenza, or elephantiasis!"

Bert looked at me. "Right you are Doc. Time we was all going. Everybody; to my restaurant! Let's see if there is any single malt left there, eh?" He squired Ari along and winked at me. "We'll just, ahem, leave you to it then, Doc!"

I sneered as Bert, along with Ari, Al and Pauline went towards the door.

"Been a lovely party, Doc. You and Louisa both. We should do this again sometime!" Pauline called out with a grin.

"Over my dead body," I muttered. "Miss Aster. I'll put you down for ten in the morning Monday to have those stitches looked at. And you have the scrip for antibiotics."

"Thank you Doctor Ellingham," the woman said. "Glad you could help me."

"It's my job."

Morwenna perked up. "I'll put it on the schedule Doc."

"Er. Thanks," I said.

Morwenna brightened. "Of course. Best be off as well." She yawned. "Quite late, isn't it?"

Bert smiled down at Ariadne. "You see, the Doc, well, he's sort of got used to Portwenn now, haven't you Doc? Best doctor we ever had or will have!"

I scowled. How to answer that? It took a lot of willpower to keep my lips clamped together.

Joe stood by with Derrick cowering by his side. "Doc, if you could just hang onto Buddy. He'll likely need to be examined. Public Health, you know. He did bite someone."

"Oh. Right." I sighed. "You'll be taking these two on to Truro then? Make sure they get seen by the medic there when they are processed into custody. I'm concerned about Derrick's concussion."

Joe nodded his head. "I'll just get my Bedford and… oh, damn, it's across the village. Doc could you?"

"No. You can't and I won't. They are _your_ prisoners."

Al smiled at Joe. "They can come with us Joe, to the restaurant. We'll watch 'em while you get your transport."

"Good!" Joe smiled back. "All's well with the world, right Doc? Dynamic duo saves Portwenn again!"

Again I kept my lips clamped shut, though I don't know how I was able. I merely nodded.

"No! Wait! Stop!" shouted our spirited constable. "I forgot! Al? Why was you lurking about in those coveralls covered in torn rags and such. And a mask! Maybe I should arrest you as well?"

Al shook his head and he faced the floor for a moment. "Well, you see, Joe…"

"Uhm, Joe. We was thinkin' that…" started Bert. "That well…"

"Yeah right," added Al. "Dad thought that a little excitement… well you know… A bit boring otherwise, just listening to dad yammer on…"

Bert held out his hand theatrically. "That's it Al, Right! Excitement. Adventure! A dark and foggy night, the moor, the sea booming in the distance, the breeze wafting clouds of dampness about. Then! There! It appears! In the mist! A dark and ominous figure lurches into sight! A moaning! Oh my God! It's the Beast! NO!"

"So who was the knight, Bert? The one in armor?" Mick asked innocently. " I seen him out there… by the hole…"

Alan and Bert exchanged a quick glance that was very mysterious.

Bert huffed. "Well, I don't rightly know. Sometimes… in the fog…"

"Yeah. Spooky shapes and such! People think they see things! Nothing there at all." Alan punctuated his evasive explanation by dropping the metal objects back into the bag and hefting it. "I'll carry this for you, constable."

Joe beamed at him. "Good boy!" He threw his arm about the lad. "Now did you ever hear how dangerous _normal_ people can be in a peaceful village just like one? Pickpockets, hoodies, thieves, muggers… we've even had false identities… ever think about a job in law enforcement?" Pushing Derrick in front of him, Joe and Alan went out the kitchen door, as Mick hung back.

"Still think I seen someone in armor. Ah well." Mick stuck out his hand. "Thanks for the help Doc. I'll think about what you said about changing and all."

I gravely shook it. "You need care for your back. If they don't get on to it properly…" I pressed my business card into his hand. "Call my surgery."

The man nodded. "Thank your _missus_ for the tea and biscuits as well. They sorted me right out."

I started to say, "She's not my…" but Mick McCready was gone, the door swinging shut behind. I eyeballed Bert, Al, Pauline, and Ari next. "Well?"

Al lurched into motion. "Come on dad, Paul, Miss Aster. We'd better go as well."

They bustled out in a clot of _thank you's_ and such as they tucked themselves back into jackets and cardis and I just wanted them to go away, as quickly as possible. I gratefully closed the door behind them and heard water running in the sink, so turned to find Morwenna starting the washing up. "Morwenna?"

"Bit of a mess, Doc. Thought you might want help."

"No. Stop. Go home."

"You're sure? I can stay."

"No. Go home. Now." I watched as she shut off the tap and shrugged into her coat.

"Alright. Night." She went to the door and I stopped the door from opening as she tugged on it.

"Morwenna. Your… impromptu… diagnosis was… ahem…" I saw her eyes go wide. "Good show. We should talk a bit. You may… perhaps… you should consider... uhm, more schooling."

The girl smiled. "I'd like that!" She gave me a brief hug then pried the door open and left.

I looked about the wreck of our kitchen. Dirt on the floor. Used cups and plates and chairs askew. Then I thought of the mess in the lounge, and the waiting area, and surgery. I sighed at even thinking of the effort it would take to clean.

Louisa marched in empty armed.

"No James?"

"Nope. Just wet and fussy. A new nappy and he was happy. I changed him and tucked him back in. Poor kiddo – all worn out. He's sparko again." She looked about the kitchen. "Bit of a mess; but we'll sort it. Tomorrow." She yawned and put her lovely head on my shoulder. "They're all gone?"

"Yes. Thank God! Bloody people. But they're all gone now." I hugged her slender body and felt her start to melt into my side. "Alone at last."

Louisa sighed contentedly and looked up and nuzzled my neck. Then she stopped and I saw a sly grin come to her face. "No. _Not_ all. Look at the floor," she said.

I looked down and there sat Buddy by my shoe, wagging his tail and panting. "Oh, God!"

**Notes: The good doctor, of course, is being sarcastic. 'bubonic plague, influenza, or elephantiasis!" he says.**

**Bubonic plague – the so called Black Death – a nasty bugger which comes in three forms.**

**Influenza – we're all familiar with this one**

**Elephantiasis – a disease from Africa caused by the filaria (microscopic worms) of parasites carried by mosquitoes. The condition causes huge swelling of the affected area, perhaps due to damage to the lymphatic system or from the body's immune response.**


	48. Chapter 48

Chapter 48 – Finale I

Ian Hardcastle was scrubbing down the griddle when Bert, Al, Ari and Pauline traipsed in to the restaurant, with Derrick and Mick following behind.

Bert found that his Portwenn Ramblers had indeed been into his hard stuff. His single malt whiskey was down to dregs in the bottle, three bottles of red wine had vanished along with a slab of bacon, all the left over bread, and three dozen eggs. "You been eating my food!" shouted Bert.

"Well, you did tell us to help ourselves," Ian answered. "But everyone pitched in to cleanup. "See?" He pointed about the kitchen. "Spic and span. Then they left."

Al ran a finger along the counter. "He's right, dad! Cleanest I seen the place. Maybe you could take some lessons?"

Ian smiled. "I used to run a little café years back. Never forgot how to, I suppose." He wiped his hands on a towel, folded it and leaned against the counter. "Just finished."

Bert's head wobbled side to side. "Oh, what's the use? At least we made some cash tonight, son."

Al looked into the cooler. "Yeah. Well they ate up all the shelled prawns as well. And the lettuce and the tomatoes…" He closed the fridge and then sloshed the coffee pot. "All the old coffee too!"

Ian chuckled. "Here," he said and handed Bert a stack of pounds.

Bert's eyes boggled when he saw the wad of cash. "Al! Look at that, would you?"

Pauline took up the stack and riffled through the bills. "Looks like you're in the money, Bert," she giggled and smiled at Al. "You can take me out to dinner! A proper dinner!"

Al snatched the cash from her hand and stuffed into his trouser pocket. "This whole pile is going to Ruth Ellingham. A little matter of an unpaid…" he caught his dad's sad look, "loan."

"Right… right you are Al! Wouldn't want Ruth to go… wantin' now would we?" Bert said but the greedy look on his face was priceless. "See, Al? I said it would all work out?"

Al looked at his father with aching eyes. His head hurt, his shoulder was killing him, he was filthy dirty, dog tired, and his feet still felt like ice. How many times had this happened to him? His dad always got these bodmin ideas… and the faithful son always ended up paying the price. At least this time he'd not gone into the cesspit. He sighed loudly. "Whatever," he said.

Ariadne Aster yawned. "You know, I'd better be getting back to my hotel. She lifted her injured arm slightly. "Need to get this healing. Rest would be best." She walked across the kitchen and hugged Bert. "It's been fun."

"Fun? Fun… yeah, fun! Large Excursions, always aiming to please our customers!" He laughed. "Ahem, madam if there's anything you'll be wanting…"

Ari patted his arm, stretched up on her toes and kissed his check. "We'll see, Bert Large. We'll see." She turned to the others. "I'll say goodnight then." She walked to the door and paused. "You know, though, I might want someone to come check on me tomorrow morning. Say at ten, for brunch? I might…" she held her wounded arm stiffly, "need help buttering my toast."

Bert smiled. "Of course, milady," he said and bowed deeply. He watched her sashay from the room and he sighed. "Now there…" he mumbled, "is a real live woman."

"Bert? Going all sappy, aren't you?" Pauline asked with a smirk. "Come on Al, let's get you to bed." She took his arm. "You probably need help getting ready for a little shuteye, don't you think? Like with your pyjamas?" She goosed Al and he jumped.

Al scowled. "Gad, woman! A fella gets all beat up and you have just one thing on your mind!"

"Why Al Large," she replied. "_I_ was thinking about _sleep_. What are _you_ thinking of?"

As she led Al from the room and clumped up the stairs, those left behind could hear the sound of a hand slapping someone's backside, followed by a female giggle. Their footsteps ended with the slamming of a door above the kitchen.

Bert rubbed his face. "That girl…" He caught the eyes of Mick and Derrick who were grinning ear to ear. "What do you two think is so _funny_?" He took up a spatula and pointed it at them. "Have a care!"

"God, Bert! Just fooling," said Mick, then he whispered in Derrick's ear. "Does everyone in this bloody town use kitchen utensils as weapons?"

And that made Derrick laugh out loud.

"What's so damn funny?" yelled Bert.

Ian laughed as well.

Bert swung the spatula in his direction. "Don't you start!"

000

Joe Penhale hustled back to the Large Restaurant with the Bedford and loaded Derrick Mann and Mick McCready into the police vehicle.

The teenager, Alan, stood beside the vehicle with his mum and dad, and was whispering to Mick, who was in the front seat. Mick was still unrestrained, although Derrick, given his attempt to run off, was in the back, with a loop of chain and a padlock, borrowed from Bert to keep him in his seat.

Derrick looked at this arrangement and sneered. "You think that will hold me?" He tugged on the chain.

Joe hefted his pepper spray in his hand. "You want to try it?" He pointed the canister at Derrick.

He laughed. "Go ahead, copper! Do it! You moron! You've got the thing pointed the wrong way!"

"Oops!" Penhale reversed the can, flipped off the safety lever and held it firmly. "You want this now?"

The man flinched and head up his hands. "Just fooling, constable! I give up." He said sadly and sighed. "Besides, with this headache of mine, I couldn't get very far. And what about my lorry?"

"I've got the keys right here, Mr. Mann. It's not going anywhere; just like you. We'll take good care of it." Joe slammed the door on the man, glad to be almost rid of these two. He thought of the charges to nail Derrick Mann. Attempted robbery, assault with a deadly weapon, unlawful holding, animal theft, breaking and entering, trespassing… that should do it. With the statements he'd gotten from the victims, plus his own testimony, it seemed that Derrick would not be lurking about in the fog for a good long while.

Mick was an accessory, so maybe he could get a better deal. He did tell _all_… Joe abandoned this train of thought when he imagined what Maggie would say when he told her of tonight's work. He stood a little straighter. This went a good deal better then when Mr. Coley climbed onto the school roof. Poor bugger. But he came out on top in this caper so he swelled up a bit more. No hoods would be taking over _his_ village! Joe knew he was no Clint Eastwood, but he could dream. He walked up to the cab and climbed in. Alan was still speaking to Mick softly, and he overheard part of it.

"Yeah, I seen him, too," Alan said.

Mick sat up straighter. "Really? So I'm not barmy?"

The boy smiled. "No, I don't think so. Bert saw him too."

"Seen who?" asked Joe. "There's someone else I need to be worried about? Out in the fog?" He took up a torch, switched it on, and flashed it about in the darkness. He waved it about as he climbed back out of the truck.

The boy's parents, Mildred and Gerald, protested as he blinded them with the beam. "Stop it!" yelled the dad. "Trying to impair our vision even more? Darkness, fog, and now dancing spots in our eyes?"

Alan spoke up. "Joe! I mean Officer Penhale. There's nothing! There's no one out there… I don't think. Not anymore." He looked casually at Mick who gave him a wink. "I doubt we'll see anybody wandering about tonight in this fog! Too…"

"Dark and cold!" blurted out Mick. He shook his head from side to side. "Cold…"

"As a grave?" threw out Gerald.

"Maybe," answered Joe who was now shivering. "Time to be off. I may be calling you tomorrow on your mobile to complete my reports, just as I will with the rest."

"Thanks Officer," said Mildred. "Now come Alan, back to the B&B and our cozy room. We'll catch our death if we stay out much longer!" She put her arm about Alan. "I'm so proud of you, the way you helped out."

Gerald patted the boy on the Back. "Bert and Al Large told me how you helped wrestle that criminal up in the surgery. Good show."

Alan hugged his dad. "Thanks dad. I guess I can do something right once in a while."

The trio walked off and Joe slid into the Bedford and started the diesel motor. "Righto! Off we go then." Joe started to whistle in his off-key way as the Bedford coasted down the hill, leaving darkness in its wake.

"Mick?" yelled Derrick.

"Yeah?"

"If I ever get within fifty miles of a certain Cornish village, would you please _slug_ me and knock me out, before I get ANY CLOSER?"

Mick chuckled but his voice caught in his throat as he caught a glimpse of a tall figure in silver armor, standing just off the narrow lane, staring at him with soulful eyes. He pointed at the figure and yelled out. "There he is!"

"Who?" Joe asked.

Mick craned his neck for a look in the side mirror, but there was no one there. "Nobody… I guess." He felt dampness in his armpits and he knew it wasn't from the fog. He never did like ghost stories, anyway.


	49. Chapter 49

Chapter 49 – Finale II

Morwenna walked down Rosscarrock Hill feeling rather pleased with herself. Being summoned to the surgery so late on a Friday evening was a first and she really wasn't sure what she'd find when she arrived. Seeing reception crowd with villagers and strangers was a bit of a shock, but she'd squared her shoulders and helped where she could. It wasn't nearly as splendid as when she'd helped the Doc operate on Louisa's mum, but being able to render first aid to Al Large, as well as diagnose his shoulder injury, was a triumph of a different sort.

During the operation, the Doc had told her to follow every direction he'd given, and she must have followed well enough as he'd only yelled at her twice – and that must be a record of some sort. And Eleanor did recover. So that worked. But taking his medical journal home and reading all those big words and puzzling it out – that was sweet. Always did have a good memory for puzzles – and that was a real one.

"Acromioclavicular joint," she said aloud, rolling the complicated word over her tongue. That was the thing she'd read about in the journal. Part of the shoulder, just where Al's had been hurt. The word sounded quite nice. There must be more words like that in those medical journals. More puzzles to work out.

She brushed back her hair and played with one of the feathery earrings she wore. With a start, she recalled that these were the very same earrings she'd worn when the operated on Eleanor.

"Huh," she said aloud. "Brilliant that! I'll have to wear these more often, like. Maybe they're magic? Good luck?" She laughed aloud, hearing her light voice echo oddly in the thick fog which swirled about her. "Wenna, you could find your way home in this village even if you were blindfolded during a power failure! A little fog shouldn't bother you!"

Fog. Yes, fog, she thought. _Maybe_ she'd been in a fog since the day Mrs. T fired her from the chemist, and then low and behold, Louisa Glasson stepped in and got you the job at the surgery. Nice that. She sighed. She always liked Louisa, as a teacher, and now… almost as a friend. Seeing her and the Doc together once more, and getting to see little James Henry most days, was quite a treat. Precious little lamb. What would it be like to have Martin Ellingham as a father? Her own dad was a dim memory and her granddad more of an elderly type. But Doc Martin – as a dad? In spite of herself she laughed.

Another sigh came from her lips. "So Wenna, you've got a slightly more permanent spot working for Doc Martin now that he's staying. You'll been seein' a lot more of him." She shook her head in bafflement. "For all Louisa's brains, she must see something in the Doc that is special. Doesn't she?" She shook her head. "I don't know."

The Doc had praised her tonight and mentioned that she ought to get more schoolin' or something. She hugged herself in happiness.

She continued towards the Platt, and saw a dark form slink across her path from up the hill across the road and to her left. "Big cat that. What's the matter kitty? Lost in the fog?" She stopped and peered a moment. "Biggest damn cat I ever seen!" Gooseflesh wrinkled across her neck, back and arms. "Damn. Cold out here. Kitty," she added softly, "you, best get on home. And me too."

She crossed the Platt, heading towards the hill and home when behind her sounded the _loudest_ meow she'd ever heard.

"Bugger! That is one _large_ cat!" The sound made her quicken her pace almost to a jog. She looked behind but the cat was not visible.

"Lordy. Imagination is a wonderful thing, ain't it? Just a cat Wenna. A kitty cat." She rubbed her arms again, getting gooseflesh once more. "Get on home."

Morwenna wondered if she should wake granddad to tell him of the things that had happened tonight? Her hand went to the throat of her jumper and she fingered the worn silver dolphin she wore on a slender chain around her neck. She'd seen dolphins in the harbor that morning. What a wonderful day it had been! Maybe she could study medical massage, or maybe be a midwife, or… her head filled with a rush of images. A way out of _her_ personal fog… that must be it.

She smiled and said, "Thank you Doc, for staying in the village." She rubbed the dolphin again. "And thanks… for lots of things!"

She put her key into the Yale lock, turned it and pushed granddad's cottage door open. "Granddad?" she called sweetly. "Are you up? I've got news! You'll never believe it!"

As the door closed behind her, from out of the fog came a deep growl from some large animal's throat.


	50. Chapter 50

Chapter 50 - Finale III

Louisa took my arm and guided me out of the kitchen as I protested. "But Louisa! I don't want that dog in the house! They are filthy, germ-carrying, disease-ridden animals, and the kitchen is an absolute wreck! Imagine the breeding ground for disease it's become! We can't just leave it like this!"

She patted my arm and smiled. "It's ok, Martin. We can clean it tomorrow. Come on now, back to bed, doctor." Her eyes were filled with desire. "That is… if you want to." She started to chew on her lip.

"Of course I do." I switched off the lights and we walked towards the stairs, but the pattering of canine feet accompanied us. "God! What about the dog! We can't just let him muck about the cottage all night, loose in the house!"

"We can put him in the pantry, can't we?" She veered off to the surgery and came back with a cardboard carton. "Found a box. We can make him a bed." She went back to the kitchen, flipped the lights back on, and wielding a knife cut down one side of the box. "There. Have you any old towels?"

I pointed under the sink. "There's one or two I use to clean the car; freshly laundered." I sighed. "I can't stop you can I?"

"No," she said smiling.

I feared this. Clearly giving birth to a human baby and now being a mother had activated Louisa's maternal instincts for all creatures. The dog looked up at me, his tail wagging and tongue lolling. "Don't look at me," I told him. "I'll not take care of you. I'm not your mum, nor do I want to be!"

"Oh, Martin," bristled Louisa. "Come off it. He's an orphan and he did _leap_ to the _rescue_ when Derrick was holding Ariadne in his clutches." She bent and petted his head. "Good Buddy. Good boy!"

The animal licked her hand and I groaned. "Make sure you wash your hands after touching the animal. Can't have any germs spread to James, can we?" I sneered at the dog. "I sincerely hope this arrangement is temporary. There must be someone who wants him. Not me. And we can't have a dog in surgery – in my office! What will my patients think?"

Louisa shook her head at me. "Your patients, most of whom have pets of their own, won't mind a bit. Have a heart, Martin. He's shown up on our doorstep looking for a home. And with a hurt paw too!" She sniffed. "Poor thing. He must be missing Joan and clearly your Aunt Ruth thinks you should have him."

"A cruel joke, that." I scoffed. "Ruth got the farm and I got… her dog." I sneered at the furry thing.

Buddy stood up and wagged his tail, then limped towards the back door.

Louisa brightened. "Look! He wants to go out. Likely needs to, uhm… you know."

I scowled but opened the door and the dog bounded outside, cocked his leg on the retaining wall, and released a stream of urine. I shuddered. The rear terrace will need to be washed and scrubbed now. More work. I hoped he'd dart off into the night but he happily bounced back inside.

Louisa made up a bed with towels in the box on the floor of the pantry, the small room off the kitchen where the washing machine sat. "Come here, boy! Come on Buddy!" She pointed to the box and he scampered into it. Circling three times, he lay down on his stomach and then lowered his head onto his bandaged paw.

Louisa looked at me. "See? He's a good dog. Aren't you?" She petted his head and he licked her hand another time.

"Louisa…"

"What?"

"Please don't forget to wash your hands."

"Right. Always." She stood and went to the sink and washed thoroughly. "There." She filled a small dish with water and set it by the dog's bed. "We'll get you some dog food in the morning, right?"

The dog lay in the box looking up at us and woofed softly.

"Shush!" I said and he did as I closed the door on him.

000

Watcher lay on the soft towels and licked his hurt paw a bit through the bandage. It didn't feel bad at all now. He closed his eyes and sighed. The room was warm, and he was felt the warmest he had for days and days. He smelled soap, mildew from a leak in the plaster by the rear window, that aromatic smell from the oil that people put on their floors, and the dusty smell of the cardboard carton. He closed his eyes. He'd not found the chicken lady. Perhaps she was gone, like his mother. Wherever she was, he hoped she was someplace like him – someplace soft and comfortable.

He heard his man friend and the lady go upstairs. He liked the woman. She smelled of milk and that made him think of his own mum. He sniffed deeply. Yes, there was something else too. A smell of a young child, all wrapped up as people did to their young. He supposed since they hadn't much fur they needed that. How long would they let him stay? The other lady didn't seem to want him at the farm. He sighed once more. But _this_ cottage, and the _people_ in it, would do for a time.

Watcher had won back the good graces of his man, the tall man in the suit, and the baby's mum was very nice. They would do.

In a little while, his eyesight grew dim and his hearing faded, and as Buddy, which people insisted on calling him, faded off to sleep he could hear the sound of humans talking softly upstairs.

000

I climbed from the wrinkled jogging suit and jammed them into the clothes hamper in the bathroom. "Laundry tomorrow as well," I said yawning as Martin came in, catching me standing in my underwear.

This time, Martin didn't look away. "Louisa… I…"

I crossed to him and put fingers to his lips. "Shush. Not now."

He looked oddly at me. "Well, I just wanted to say thank you. For the help tonight… with the patient care I mean. You were… are, brilliant."

I half turned and said, "Just for the patients? Ok." He grabbed my wrist as I moved to the hall. "Martin?"

He went on. "And for all the rest as well. For James and coming back to me and…"

"And?" I held my breath as his face showed he was searching for a word.

"This," he said and taking him in his arms, kissed me full on the lips.

How can we know the ways of the human heart? And what tortures we put ourselves through? Because of misunderstandings, shyness, meanness, unspoken truths and festering slights that rattle around in our heads? It's all a mystery. What makes us love one person and hate another? I ran my hands down Martin's back and felt his strong muscles. This man, I loved.

We needed to get James christened and there was the question that Martin had asked tonight. Would I marry him? His lovely grandmother's ring sat on the bedside table, waiting for someone to wear it. Did I want that? The ring? Part of me did and part didn't. I'd seen the mess of things mum and dad made of their lives and mine. They weren't suited to marry. Were Martin and I? Time would tell.

Martin's large hands were warm on my back and waist, as his lips pressed against mine. My heart beat faster and I felt warmth grow between us. Marriage or not, I wanted this man. _This_ Martin more than any other.

"I've waited so long for you to say nice things. I had given up," I'd told him at Pentire Castle after he talked Mrs. T into coming downstairs with James. Now he was _saying_ nice things and actually _doing_ nice things. Would it last? At the moment, as I felt my body and mind respond to his kisses and embrace, I certainly hoped so.

Then I got an idea. Tomorrow, I'd write down all that happened today in a journal. Wouldn't hurt to keep a diary.

The face of that witch, Edith Montgomery floated to my mind. She'd asked me, "When did you actually have sex with Dr. Ellingham?" all part of determining the age and size of my unborn son, just months back.

"Well, I didn't… actually make a note… in my diary," I'd answered the bitch during the medical exam.

I hugged Martin, feeling urgency grow in him. Yes, a diary was a fine idea. It wasn't quite midnight yet. Perhaps we still had time so that I could write the number 4 with exclamation marks after it on blank pages in the morning.

Martin released me. "I should wash up."

"Alright." I reluctantly let him go. "I'll just check on the baby."

He nodded, dropped his shirt into the hamper and began to wash his chest, arms and face. "What?" he asked as I stood in the doorway. I was only admiring his broad shoulders, arms and back. And the rest wasn't bad either.

"Oh, nothing," I grinned. I tip-toed into the bedroom and left the lights off to not wake the baby. James was fine, slightly snoring through his little mouth in his cot. I bent over and kissed the fine hair of his head. It felt like Martin's hair, the same texture, almost, but it smelled like baby, all soap and softness.

I brushed my hair a few strokes then stood at the window peering out into the dense fog. Water was still running in the sink down the hall and I heard Martin bustling about. The water stopped and his electric razor started up. I smiled. "Martin, you are a wonder. An extraordinary man." I said to myself.

I peered into the fog for another minute and just at the edge of sight, I saw a figure - a man - in some sort of shiny clothing walk up the hill. He stopped and looked up at me standing at the window. Could he see me? It was nearly pitch black in the room but I was only wearing my underwear. "Uhm… Martin?" I said, startled, as the man below turned his head to stare up at me.

"Yes?" Martin had snuck into the room and circled my waist with his arm. He wasn't wearing any clothes, which pleased me.

I put my hand on his arm under my breasts. "Do you believe in ghosts?"

"That story of Mick's? The man was half drugged from the pain killer I injected into his back. He'd likely say anything." He started to nuzzle my shoulder.

"Still, it's all a bit mysterious. Impossible to understand. _Unfathomable_, wouldn't you say?"

"Rubbish! All of it."

I looked more closely at the man down in the street. He was tall and old and wore black gloves, and was that armor and chain mail? It couldn't be! Must be a prankster. Another of Bert's schemes.

"Louisa, _every_ story of ghosts and goblins - things that go bump in the night - not a one has been proved. Never! It's all a product of intoxication, mental illness, or over active imaginations! All to scare little children and teenage girls!" He slackened his hold on me and took my hand. "Are you coming to bed?"

"Yes, oh yes," I said and looked out the window one last time as Martin tugged me towards our bed. I caught a last glimpse of the man in armor as he disappeared in a swirl of mist.

The End

of

The Beginning

**Author's notes: I started this story just after Halloween, and I hope I didn't explain everything, leaving _some_ of the Portwenn Effect in play. The story takes place in one evening (other some flash backs) at the very end of Season 5, Episode 8 after the adventure at Pentire Castle (actually named Doyden Castle and it stands near Port Quinn).**

**Doc Martin is owned by Buffalo Pictures and I heartily thank them for unofficially permitting me to borrow the characters and locations of the TV production. The fictional setting, lovely characters, and fine acting are fun to play with and explore. That's a tribute to the fine TV show of Doc Martin.**

**I also want to say 'thank you' to all the readers who have sent me reviews and messages as this fiction unfolded. Knowing that so many of you are reading was a light in the darkness of this murky tale.**

**See you in Portwenn! **

**_Rob_ (aka robspace54)**


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